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July to December, 1893. 

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$%n Illustrated Jffonthly 



Vol. VI. 


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XX. — The Adventure of the Crooked Man 22 

XXL— The Adventure of the Resident Patient 128 

XXII. — The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter 296 

XXIII. — The Adventure of the Naval Treaty 392,459 

XXIV. — The Adventure of the Final Problem 559 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 

ALFONSO AND GREGORIO. From the French of Cam ille Debans 658 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

ASHIK-KERIB. A Story for Children. From the Russian of M. Lermontov 543 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

AWKWARD FIX, AN. Translated from the French 199 

(Illustrations by G. G. Fraser.) 


VII.— Children : Misses Gladys, May, and Katie Craven, Miss E. Cocker, Miss Cicely 
Gardner, Miss Lancaster, Miss Ella Marsden, Misses Constance and Violet Marx, 
Miss Olive Louisa Miller, Miss Dorothy Purvis, Miss Louie Stott 77 

VIII. — Ladies : Miss Vivien Travis Cook, Miss Winifred Emery, Miss Marjorie Field- 
Fisher, Miss Gilpin, Miss Lily Hamilton, Miss Frances Ivor, Miss Gertrude Lovel, 
Miss Margaret Macintyre, Miss Tyrrell 178 

IX. — Children : Misses Dorothy and Marjory Forbes-Bassett, Miss Marjorie Bitter, 
Miss Evelyn Field-Fisher, Miss Dorothy Jefford Fowler, Miss Mabel Griffith, 
Miss Dorothy M. Grinling, Miss Gladys Lea, Miss Frida Linton, Miss Frances A. 
Patmore 285 

X.— Ladies : Miss Raffles Brooke, Miss Violet Cameron, Miss Chapman, Miss Alice 
Deane, Miss Carrie Donald, "Iris," Miss A. Lyndon, Mrs. S. Richards, Mrs. Alexander 
Scott 430 

XL— Children : Miss Mollie McClory, Miss Lorna Dalziel, Miss Daw, Miss Nellie 
Dobbs, Miss Doris Dolley, Miss Gladys Marie Ellis, Miss Doris Hammersley, Miss 
Iris Clare Potway, Miss Dorothy Clara Webster 528 

XII. — Ladies : Miss Annette Baker, Miss Brunton, Mrs. Kingwell Cole, Miss Violet 
Defries, Miss Victoria Downey, Miss Hilda Hanbury, Miss Meta Hughes, Miss 
Monteith Neilson, Miss Amy Williams, Mrs. Edith Williams 674 

BOTTLE OF MADEIRA, A. By Angelo Lewis 41 

(Illustrations by W. C. Symons.) 

BRIGAND'S DAUGHTER IN BELGRAVIA, A. By Charles J. Mansford, B.A 223 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

BUCKINGHAM PALACE. By Mary Spencer- Warren 3 

(Illustrated by Photographs by Messrs. H. W. King, and Debenham & Co.) 

CAPTURING A CONVICT. By Richard Marsh 148 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 


(Illustrations by J. GiJLlCH.) 


( Written and Illustrated by F. G. KlTTON.) 


( Illustrations by Alan Wright.) 

CHRISTMAS STORY, A. From the French of Sarah Bernhardt 7" 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

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DOCTOR, STORIES FROM THE DIARY OF A. By the Authors of "The Medicine Lady." 

I.— My First Patient 91 

II.— My Hypnotic Patient 163 

III. — Very Far West 240 

IV.— The Heir of Chartelpool 416 

V.— A Death Certificate 509 

VI. — The Wrong Prescription 600 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse.) 

DOGS, A CEMETERY FOR. By E. B. Brayley Hodgrtts 625 

(Illustrations from Drawings, and from Photographs by Elliott & Fry. ) 


Part I. — (Illustrated by Photographs of the Ears of Mozart, Cardinal Newman, Charles 
Dickens, Mr. Gladstone, John Stuart Mill, Cardinal Manning, Mr. Swinburne, 
The Prince of Wales, Father Ignatius, Adelina Patti, The Duke of Devon- 
shire, Sir John Millais, Paderewski, Miss Fortescue, Queen Victoria, Miss 
Charlotte Yonge, Cesar, and Cicero 388 

Part II. — The Ears of The Princess of Wales, Miss Ellen Terry, Madame Antoinette 
Sterling, Marchioness of Londonderry, Miss Winifred Emery, Sir F. Leighton, 
Mr. Burns Jones, M. Jean de Reszke, Mr. Edward Lloyd, Lord Randolph 
Churchill, Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, Mr. T. Hardy, Mr. J. M. Barrie, "Ouida," Mr. 
Justin McCarthy, Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Mr. Clark Russell 525 

FILDES, MR. LUKE, R.A. (See " Illustrated Interviews") 111 


(Illustrations by J. FlNNEMORE.) 

HALFORD, SIR HENRY, BART., CB. (^"Illustrated Interviews") 531 

HAUNTED VILLA, A. Founded on Fact 478 

(Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.) 

HE AND SHE. From the French of Abraham Dreyfus. By Constance Beerbohm 57 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

HEROIC DAUGHTER, A. From the German 433 

(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 


XXIV.— Mr. Edmund Yates 80 

(Illustrations from Drawings by W. P. Frith, R.A., and Frank Lockwood, Q.C. ; and from 

Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry. ) 
XXV.— Mr. Luke Fildes, R.A 111 

(Illustrations by Luke Fildes, R.A. ; and from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 
XXVI.— Mr. Hamo Thornycroft, R.A. 267 

(Illustrations from Paintings by T. B. Wirgman and John Cross ; and from Photographs by Mr. 

Thornycroft and Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 

XXVII.— The Lord Mayor of London. By Mary Spencer- Warren ... 360 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry and Messrs. Mavor & Meredith.) 

XXVIII.— Sir Henry Halford, Bart., C.B. By Harry How 531 

(Illustrations from Photographs by Messrs. Elliott & Fry.) 

XXIX. — Sir George Lewis 645 

(Illustrations from Photographs by ELLIOTT & Fry. ) 

LAST TRAMP, THE. From the French of Jules Claretie 335 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

LEWIS, SIR GEORGE. (See " Illustrated Interviews ") 645 


( Illustrations by John Gulich.) 


( Written and Illustrated by J. F. Sullivan.) 

LONDON FIRES, GREAT. By Sidney Greenwood 482 

(Illustrations from Drawings by A. J. Johnson ; and from Photographs.) 

LONDON TO CHICAGO, FROM. By James Mortimer icj 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

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MAYOR, LORD, OF LONDON. (See " Illustrated Interviews") 

MONARCHS AND MUSCLE. By Miss Phyllis Bentley 

( Illustrations by John Gulich.) 

MUSIC OF NATURE, THE. By A. T. Camden Pratt 

(Illustrations by Adolph G. Doring.) 




NORTH POLE, TOWARDS THE. By Dr. Fridtjof Nansen 
(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 



Alcester, Lord 378 

Alexander, Mr. George 641 

Bedford, Duke of 373 

Bernhardt, Madame Sarah 639 

Brooke, Rev. Stopford 497 

Bryce, Professor James, M.P 643 

Canterbury, Archbishop of 261 

Cobbe, Miss Frances Power 52 

Collins, Mr. Justice Henn 640 

Exeter, The Bishop of 161 

Gill, F. Charles 374 

Grantham, The Hon. Sir William ... 500 

Greece, The King of 158 

Greece, The Queen of 159 

Grundy, Sydney 157 

Halford, Sir Henry, Bart., C.B. ... 496 

Hollman, Joseph 499 

POWDER-MINE, THE. By H. Greenhough Smith .. 
(Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I.) 

Hungerford, Mrs 375 

Jecks, Miss Clara 498 

Lockhart, W. E., R.S.A 160 

Marlborough, Bishop of 51 

Max-Muller, Professor 54 

Murray, Mr. David, A. R. A 55 

Paderewski, Ignatz Jan ... 644 

Roberts, General Lord 56 

St. Andrews, Bishop ok 376 

Saxe- Weimar, Prince Edward of ... 53 

Steell, Gourlay 377 

Stevenson, R. Louis 256 

Thornycroft, Hamo, R.A. 257 

Webbe, A. J 255 

Westminster, Duke of 262 

Wyllie, W. L., A. R.A 162 

York, Archbishop of 642 



All Through a Lost Penny 

Clocks of All Times 

Critical Move and a Cup of Coffee, A 


Pal's Puzzles 

Sailors of a Century 





444, 556, 720 

I. — The Wild Man of Borneo 
II. — How the Fat Woman Eloped 

III.— The N'Shugie Gumbo 

IV. — A Gorilla Romance 

V. — A Case of Dual Consciousness 

VI. — The Mermaid 

(Illustrations by J. F. Sullivan.) 



SPIKING THE GUNS. By C J. Cutcliffe Hyne 

SLIPPERS OF ABOU-KAREM, THE. From the French of Xavier Marmier 
(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 

(Illustrations by F. C. Gould.) 

SULTAN OF TURKEY, THE. By Moulvie Rafiuddin Ahmad 

(Illustrations from Photographs by W. & D. Downey, Elliott & Fry, and others.) 


(Written and Illustrated by the late Warrington Hogg.) 

(Illustrations by H. R. Miliar.) 



62, 191, 253, 469, 583 
... 571 
... 308 

By Pleydell North... 

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TRAGEDY IN THE AIR, A. By J. L. Hornibrook 

{Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

(Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.) 

THORNYCROFT, MR. HAMO, R.A. (^"Illustrated Interviews") 



WEDDING, THE ROYAL. From an Oriental point of view. By Moulvie Rafiuddin Ahmad. 
(Illustrations from Drawings by Oriental Artists, and from a Photograph by Messrs. Elliott & 
Fry ; with a Facsimile of the Queen's Letter to the Nation on the occasion of the Wedding) 

WHITE LODGE. By Mary Spencer-Warren 

illustrations from Photographs by Gunn & Stuart.) 



YATES, MR. EDMUND. (See "Illustrated Interviews' 1 ) 


ZIG-ZAGS AT THE ZOO. By Arthur Morrison. 

XIII.— Ziz-Zag Canine 

XIV.— Zig-Zag Corvine 

XV.— Zig-Zag Entomic 

XVI. — Zig-Zag Pachydermatous 
XVII. — Zig-Zag Musteline 

XVIII.— Zig-Zag Piscine 

(Illustrations by J. A. SHEPHERD.) 




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From ft Phatogruph hy Ff. W King, 

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Buckingham Palace. 

By Mary Spencer-Warren. 

[Pertnission has been most graciously accorded to the writer of the following article, by Her Majesty the 
Queen to have access to the inside of Buckingham Palace^ and to be at liberty to examine the interior — an 
opportunity now given for the first time — in order to furnish the readers of The Strand Magazine 
with a descriptive account of its contetUs and decorations. We are quite sure our readers^ as well as ourselves^ 
will much appreciate the opportunity afforded. ] 


known the wide world over to 
be the London residence of 
the most powerful monarch, 
the wisest ruler, and the most 
universally respected person- 
age that has ever occupied a throne. 

To many the exterior is fairly familiar ; 
being, indeed, one of the " sights " alike to 
City and country born. Do our " dailies " 
announce that Her Majesty is coming to 
London for a few days, a number of us im- 
mediately wend our way in the direction 01 
the Palace, happy if we get but a passing 
glimpse of the first lady in the land. 

Martial sounds, flashing swords, and all 
the pomp of State pageantry are dear to the 
hearts of all ; but the centre of attfaction is 
the quiet, black-robed figure, whose face ever 
lights up as the unrestrained cheers of the 
populace fall upon her ear with no uncertain 
sound. Right up to the gates we stand, 
often for hours; but when the Queen has 
passed in our day is over, and we turn 
away, fancy only following inside— reality 

On looking into the historical associations 
of this place, I find the site was originally 
known as the Mulberry Gardens; but such 
gardens being a failure as a public resort, a 
house was built, and certain of the grounds 
inclosed. One incident is worthy of record 
connected with this house : here the first cup 
of tea drank in this country was made; 
brought here in the year of the Great Plague 
by the Earl of Arlington, he having paid 60/- 
per lb. for its purchase in Holland. This 
residence was known as Arlington House, 
but in 1 703 the Duke of Buckingham built 
another — whence it derives its name. 
George III. evidently took a fancy to it, 
for he purchased it for a sum of ^21,000, 
quickly removing to it from St. James's 

In 1775 it was settled on Queen Charlotte 
Vol vi ~i 

by Act of Parliament ; and here for the future 
she held her Drawing Rooms. 

A short time previous to 1820 the building 
commenced to show signs of decay, so repair 
was talked of and finally commenced in 1825. 
Doubtless it would have been better to have 
erected an entirely new one; but there was 
some question of a grant from Parliament, so 
the former dimensions and plan remained. 
William IV. did not appear to be at all 
enchanted with it, inasmuch as he never 
occupied it, and it was not until after the 
accession of Her Majesty Queen Victoria 
that it became once more a Royal residence. 
Then some enlargements and improvements 
— on the south side — were carried out ; the 
private chapel being a special added feature. 
Three or four years later the east front was 
greatly enlarged and improved at a cost of 
;£i 50,000, and the Palace as it now appears 
is, if not beautiful, stately and grand in its 

It is not my purpose, however, to give you 
a description of the building : enter with me, 
and glance at its interior. 

The grand entrance through the central arch 
is very fine ; the gates are supposed to be the 
largest and most beautiful in Europe, costing 
3,000 guineas. 

Now we cross the quadrangle and approach 
a portico supported by Doric columns, with 
Corinthian columns on top supporting a pedi- 
ment head ; on cither side being an immense 
bas-relief representing warfare. Right round 
the building runs a terra-cotta frieze of 
flowers in relief. 

Entering here, we are at once in a 
magnificent marble hall 50ft. by 30ft. It is 
surrounded with double columns of pure 
Carrara marble 13ft. high on an elevated 
continuous basement, every column formed 
of a single piece, Corinthian in character, 
with gilded bases and capitals. The roof is 
finely painted with armorial devices and floral 
wreaths, dpjfi£ITihOF#yal hhus, crimson, 


From a Photo, by] 


[Ihb&dium * Ck 

green, and gold ; a frieze running round of 
crimson and green, with burnished metal 
chain work hanging over all. The walls 
are imitation marble, and four alcoves 
contain statues, Four massive burnished 
lamps , each containing twelve inside lights, 
diffuse soft rays of light around* But the 
sun is shining now, and we note the floors of 
variegated marble, the chairs and settees of 
mahogany and gold, emblazoned with the 
Royal Arms, and even catch a glimpse of 
some sumptuous apartment across the Sculp- 
ture Gallery and of a beautiful pleasance 
through a bay window. 

On the side of the hall to the right from the 
entrance a few steps lead up to an elevation 
where is situated a fireplace worth a close 
inspection. Over the mantelpiece is a 
massive brass clock by Vulliamy, recessed 
in a square of marble, surmounted with a 
crown and the Royal Arms, winged figures 
on either side, and a carving of fruit under- 
neath ; the whole supported by recumbent 
figures at the corners, with the Royal Arms 
and mottoes in the centre. On either side 
of the mantel is the same rich carving, and 

at the base rampant lions in support ; the 
interior having a fine ormolu frieze. 

The entrance to the grand staircase is on our 
left, but first we will view some apartments on 
this floor. Opposite the grand entrance the 
hall is open to and communicating with (by the 
broad steps that run right round) the Sculp- 
ture Gallery. This is much used as a pro- 
menade, and as it is about 152ft. long, is well 
adapted for the purpose. It has imitation 
marble walls, and is supported by forty 
marble Corinthian columns, A number of 
pedestals support handsome bronze busts of 
the classics, while two hold eagles with out- 
spread wings. 

Some massive and beautiful side-tables 
have on them white marble vases of graceful 
design- The fireplaces are richly chased in 
ormolu, while over the marble mantels are 
massive mirrors in cream and gold. At one 
end is the "Ministers' Staircase"; and by 
this the Royal Family ascend on Drawing 
Room days, their special entrance from the 
quadrangle being quite close to it 

At the opposfte end 5s the lower corridor, 


one side of the quadrangle. Opening from 
this gallery is a beautiful suite of rooms, the 
first one we enter being the Carnarvon 

It has a fine painted ceiling, and is hung 
and carpeted in electric blue and drab. The 
walls have slightly recessed pilasters of gold, 
with carved serpents climbing palms. The 
suite of furniture is mahogany and leather, 
ordinary dining-tables in the centre, two 
very beautiful side-tables of buhl and tortoise- 
shell, and here and there pedestals of inlaid 
wood with ormolu mounts, supporting busts 
of Roman conquerors. 

On the marble mantel stands a Diana 
clock — a figure of Diana under a dome, 
Cupid on top indicating time with an arrow. 
On either side of the clock is some Sfevres 
china. The marble chimney-piece has jambs 
of draped Egyptian figures, with carvings of 
flowers over the top, and an inside frieze of 
ormolu. There are some choice paintings in 
the room, the masters being Van Somer, 
Huysmans, P. de Champaigne, and Taylor. 

Opening from here is an apartment known 
as the " '44 " Room. 

It derived its name from the visit of the 
Emperor Nicholas in the year 1844, having 
been specially decorated and fitted in honour 
of His Majesty. It has a painted ceiling of 
white ground, with gold and royal blue 
decoration, coats of arms embellishing the 
four corners, with the date wrought on the side 
centres ; twenty marble Corinthian columns 
stand in solid support. The curtains are 
rich crimson silk, the carpet crimson velvet 
pile, all the furniture being upholstered in 
the same colour, and having frames of bur- 
nished gold. 

There is a very massive marble mantel con- 
taining some fine Sfcvres china and a hand- 
some timepiece. In various directions you 
note pedestals holding some hand-painted 
china vases, with ormolu mounts, side-tables 
containing china of almost fabulous worth, 
while here and there for convenience of its 
Royal occupants are writing-tables of buhl, 
with legs and bases of ormolu. Handsome 
ormolu chandeliers light the apartment, and 
on the walls are some life-sized portraits of 
notabilities, amongst whom I noticed the 
Emperor Nicholas, by Coxton, after Kriiger ; 
Leopold King of the Belgians, by Winter- 
halter ; Louise Queen of the Belgians ; the 
Duke of Wiirtemberg, the first Duke of 
Saxe-Coburg; Frederick King of Saxony; 
and Louis-Philippe. 

Now we come to the " Bow Library," or 
"Council Room." This is occasionally 

used for banquets; the last time, however, 
being Jubilee year, when the guests were over- 
numerous even for a place of such dimensions 
as Buckingham Palace. Being the centre 
room in this suite, and right opposite the 
grand entrance, it is convenient for a cloak- 
room on Drawing Room days, for which 
purpose it is always used. It bears the date 
1853 on the ceiling, having been re-decorated 
in that year. It has five recessed windows, 
and is lighted at night by massive ormolu 
chandeliers. The ceiling is beautifully 
painted, has an elaborate frieze, and is sup- 
ported by twelve Ionic granite columns. 

There are two fireplaces with scagliola 
columns on either side ; a suite of leather- 
covered furniture and a Brussels carpet of 
lovely design, jessamine, lily, and orange 
blossoms, connected with a flowing ribbon. 
Now I will ask your attention to two cup- 
boards, with concave glass fronts ; each one 
containing china of such immense value, and 
of such exceeding rarity and elegance, as 
could not possibly be equalled. I much 
doubt if any correct estimate could be given. 
But here you will see Sfevres, Dresden, and 
Chelsea, priceless and matchless, much 
of it indeed being actually jewelled ; 
and some being rare specimens of "Bleu 
du roi," " Vert Pomme," " Bleu de 
Vincennes," and "Rose du Barry." Just 
note this one tureen, with concave perforated 
cover. A similar one — but having flaws 
from which this is guiltless — fetched ^t 0,000 
in a public auction room a few years back ! 
Bear in mind this is only one of scores of 
pieces, and then you will better understand 
me when I repeat that this collection is 
absolutely priceless. We must not linger 
here, however ; there is so much to see. Here 
is a beautiful Roman mosaic table that calls 
for prolonged attention. The centre is 
illustrative of the desertion of the founders 
of that Empire, and their adoption by a she- 

Around are inlaid views of Roman palaces 
and public buildings, with connecting links 
of flowers ; the base of the table is of black 
marble. An inscription sets forth that 
" This table was presented to Queen Victoria, 
in 1859, by Pope Pius the IX., in com- 
memoration of the visit of the Prince of 

On a pedestal between two of the windows 
stands a large clock of curious construction 
— it is very beautifully enriched with silver 
chasing, and denotes the time, day, date, and 
month, having also an astronomic dial. 

There [fti^Tijrigf ^ipftlQminense Oriental 


From a Pfcoto. &yl 


vases, three of them being Japanese, and a 
fine terra-cotta one presented by the Emperor 
Napoleon in commemoration of the '51 
Exhibition, It is handsomely painted, pic- 
turing processions of all nations. The vase 
is supported by four figures representative of 
the four quarters of the globe, and stands on 
a marble pedestal 

On a side-table stands a model of a mortar 
of unique construction and beautiful work- 
manship, the base being carried by four 
tortoises, and a dragon to carry the mortar; this 
was presented to the Prince Regent by the 
Spanish nation, to commemorate the raising 
of the Siege of Cadiz, on 22nd July, 1812. 
Some fine Genoa green marble vases and 
other artistic things are noticeable; and in 
addition several life-sized paintings and 
painted busts of distinguished personages, 
amongst whom you will note the Puke of 
Brabant, H,I,H. the Duchess of Brabant, 
H.R,tL the Princess of Prussia, Ernest 
Prince of Hohenlohe-Langenburg, and Prince 
Leopold at the age of three months, bearing 
such a remarkable likeness to his mother, our 
Queen, on his baby face as to be quite 
startling* All these pictures represent 
sponsors or people present at Prince 
Leopold's christening. 

From the windows of this room is a first-rate 
view of the terrace and gardens ; the terrace 
has some fine statuary, leading on to a 
beautiful and extensive lawn ; in the back- 
ground a lake of five acres, shady and 

secluded walks, 
and giant trees, 
just now in leaf 
and bloom, with 
the birds making 
sweet music in the 
branches. All else 
of life that you will 
see just now is 
represented by the 
blue-coated guar- 
dians of peace and 
propertyj who 
stand watchful and 
alert ; and the red 
coa ts of our 
country's defen- 
ders as they pace 
to and fro with 
martial tread. So 
quiet and so 
secluded are these 
forty acres of park- 
like ground, that 
you might well 
imagine yourself many miles from the 
bustling traffic outside the Palace gates, 
instead of only separated by a few hundred 

Next to this is the "'55 " Room, used as a 
sitting-room, and also as an additional cloak- 
room when the Drawing Room is more than 
usually large, The ceiling is artistically 
painted, the curtains are crimson silk, with a 
rose, shamrock, and thistle border worked in 
gold. The furniture is rosewood and gilt, 
with crimson silk rep upholstery. 

On the marble chimney-piece is a timepiece 
of black marble and gold — Father Time 
clipping the wings of Cupid; while on the 
opposite side of the room, standing on a 
massive carved pedestal, is an ancient music- 
box and clock combined, composed of 
tortoiseshell and buhl, with silver mounts and 
twisted glass pillars. 

The paintings in this room are superb, and 
all appertaining to the period named, the 
military subjects of C H, Thomas being 
truly wonderful examples. The " Distribu- 
tion of Medals n on the Horse Guards' 
Parade is one that can be gazed upon for 
an almost indefinite period : the Royal dais 
with its occupants ; the group of officers 
near, each one being a distinct likeness; the 
massed bands ; the men drawn up under 
arms ; the heroes as they advance in single 
file, some minus an arm, some a leg, bandaged 
and damaged, one in particular being wheeled 
up, havj f |||^^^ f ^(i : -^f »U with a 


look of pride and exultation that their 
sen - ices are being thus acknowledged by the 
Queen for whom they had fought. And on 
Her Majesty's face is an unmistakable look of 
sympathy with suffering, mingled with pride 
in the sufferers' achievements. 

In the background are stands crowded 
with onlookers, while on the top of all the 
buildings around people swarm like bees, 
Over all hangs a London haze, through 
which the sunlight is flashing and gleaming 
on arms and accoutrements. 

There are three others by the same artist : 
"A Review of Troops on Woolwich Com- 
mon before the King of Sardinia," " A Naval 
Review at S pithead," and one depicting an 
event during the visit of Her Majesty 
to the Emperor Napoleon, namely : " The 
Review of French Troops on the Champs 
de Mars." Then there are portraits of 

from a Pkttio. by] 


Victor Emmanuel IL ; Prince Victor of 
Hohenlohe ; Prince Frederick William of 
Prussia ; Louis Duke of Oporto ; and Philip 
Count of Flanders ] also a fine painting 
showing the investiture of Napoleon with the 
Garter, in the Throne Room of this Palace* 

From here we enter the " Ladies' Breakfast 
Room " ; the walls are concealed with metal 
trellis panels, lined with silk, leaving little 
doubt but that it was originally intended for 
a small library. The furniture of this room is 
plain and solid, use rather than ornament 

being evident The marble chimney-piece 
shows a fine ormolu frieze edging it, a speci- 
men of egg-and-tongue moulding. Near the 
window stands what may be either an ancient 
marble font or a vessel to contain flowers ; 
it is supported by a marble pedestal of red 
granite, with white base and cap ; the whole 
being of such solidity that it is too ponderous 
a task to move it, so the carpet is nailed 

just now (although not its permanent 
resting-place) there is to be seen here the 
celebrated family picture after Winterhalter, 
portraying Her Majesty, the Prince Consort, 
and their five eldest children. It is a 
beautiful painting of an ideal family group, 
the likeness to each being especially good. 

The " Household Dining Room " is the 
next one we enter, a fine capacious apartment, 
not much used for dinners now; indeed, I 

think not at all 
since Jubilee year. 
On Drawing 
Room days it is 
the cloak-room 
for the Corps 
Diplomatique. It 
is supported with 
silicon marble 
columns of the 
Ionic order, the 
walls being 
covered with flock 
paper. The cur- 
tains are rich 
crimson silk with 
gold borders, the 
floor having a 
carpet of Turkish 
design. The 
furniture is the 
ordinary leather- 
covered peculiar 
to dining-rooms ; 
the sideboards 
being very mas- 
sive — of Spanish 
mahogany and gold decorative work. On the 
mantel is one of Vulliamy's clocks in tortoise- 
shell and bronze, and on either side some 
ormolu candelabra. There is a fine collection 
of busts, some standing in recesses enriched 
with Spanish mahogany and gold bolection 
moulding. Amongst these busts may be noted 
William IV., the Duke of Kent, the Duke 
of Sussex, the Duke of York, and one— a 
Chantrey — of George IV., which was to have 
been presented to hia brother the Duke of 
YorkJ^HV^liY^Wfi^H^ 6 ^ Taylor. 

[//. W. King- 



The paintings are: "The Opening of 
London Bridge/' " Her Majesty's First 
Council at Kensington Palace" (a copy), "The 
Pantheon " and " The Colosseum " (both by 
P. Pamini), and portraits of Edward Duke 
of York— after Pompeo Batoni -Princess 
Sophia Matilda Duchess of Gloucester, 
Frederick William I. of Prussia, in armour 
and robes, Queen Anne (in 17 14) and 
George II., both by Kneller, and Caroline 
Queen of George II., after Seeman, 

I may here mention that Her Majesty is 
often most kind in lending valuable paintings 
and other works of art for the various exhibi- 
tions in all parts of the country. In fact, the 
first painting I mentioned in this room was 
about to undergo some little repair necessary 
after its journey to and from the County of 

You will have noticed that the suite of 
rooms through which we have passed is 
continuous. Having commenced with the 
" Carnarvon Room/' it finishes with the one 
we are now entering, known as the " Chapd 
Ante Room." The rare old paintings are a 
study that would be a delight to any con- 
noisseur; some are as much as fourteen 
hundred years old, but are still in splendid 

H.R.H, the Princess Louise — 
herself an artist of repute is im- 
mensely interested in this selection, 
and, indeed, used some of them in 
the chapel for the marriage of 
H.R,H. the Princess Ix)uise of 
Wales to the Duke of Fife 
which occasion Her Royal 
ness had the whole of the decora- 
tions under her personal supervision, 
A large picture of much interest has 
a temporary resting-place here ; it 
is an immense group representing 
the New South Wales Contingent 
that took part in the Soudan 
Campaign, being the first assistance 
sent from the colonies to the help 
of the mother country. Services 
volunteered and given free of 
expense are well worthy of record, 
and doubtless Her Majesty the 
Queen values this fine portraiture 
of these % r aliant soldiers. 

We now pass through a corridor 
diverging to the right, and find our- 
selves in the " Private Chapel." 
This was consecrated in 1843. It is 
quite of moderate size, but is beauti- 
fully enriched and decorated in the 
German style. The supporting 


pillars were brought from Carlton House ; the 
roof is artistically painted in pale colourings 
blended with rare skill and merit. The walls 
are panelled in crimson velvet, a few choice 
old paintings being noticeable, one > you will 
observe, bearing date 1330, The altar is 
simplicity itself, speaking eloquently^ as does 
the entire interior, of the quiet yet 
truly artistic taste — blended with the deep 
religious convictions, which delighted in 
quiet worship rather than pomp and pageant 
— characteristic of H*R,H, the Prince 
Consort ; for he it was who personally 
superintended the entire arrangements of 
this charming edifice. 

The altar, then, is quite plain : just covered 
with crimson velvet edged with bullion 
fringe and letters worked in gold. On it 
reposes the gold plate of George IV. Above 
hangs a fine piece of Gobelin tapestry, the 
subject being "John Baptizing Christ," 

On the right, as you face the altar, is a 
pure white alabaster pulpit, and on the other 
side the organ and choir. The Royal pew is 
upstairs, facing the altar, and is beautifully 
fitted in crimson and gold. On either side 
of it are pews for the ladies and gentlemen of 
the household 

vnymttrtotorrt U N I Y'BR^W 'S^WH!W IG A N u^*™*^ 


ftom d Phntn fry] 


We will now retrace our steps Lhnni^h the 
chapel anteroom, and cross to the lower 
corridor. It is long, narrow, and winding, 
passing under the grand staircase, and has dove 
marble walls, on which are several good 
portraits, chief of which are Augusta Princess 
of Wales, the Duchess of Richmond, Prince 
George, Prince Edward, the Duke of Bruns- 
wick, and the five paintings showing the 
Coronation procession of William IV, Also 
you must notice in a recess a statue of Sir 
Walter Raleigh. 

This finishes the suite of what is termed 
the ''Lower State Apartments," and we start 
again from the Marble Hall in order to view 
those on the next floor. It is the morning 
of a " Drawing Room " day, so you will see 
the rooms as they are arranged for that occa- 
sion ; and in order that you may the better 
understand the ceremony, I will conduct you 

V<>L vL-2, 

the exact route 
taken by the debu- 
tante^ only diverg- 
ing now and again 
to view rooms 
through which you 
would not otherwise 
pass, which devia- 
tion I will point out 
as we proceed. 

Have you ever 
inquired of any 
youthful friend who 
has been through 
the rooms for pre- 
sentation as to what 
they are like ? I 
have; and I must 
honestly say I have 
never been much 
the wiser for their 
answers — " Beauti- 
ful!" "Charming!" 
a Lovely 1 " etc., but 
that is about all; 
for the fact is, the 
majority of them 
are too frightened 
at the ordeal before 
them when they go 
up, and too full of 
relief that it is over 
when they come 
down, to look 
about them. They 
have a general idea 
of grandeur and 
glitter — nothing 
more ! If there is 
an exception, it is your American girl : she 
seldom loses the calm coolness characteristic 
of her nationality, but placidly looks about 
her, taking mental notes of dresses* jewels, 
and faces j and as near as she can, appraises 
the furniture and fittings. 

Hut here we are at the bottom of the grand 
staircase: the rich crimson curtains at the 
foot are drawn back, and the view is simply 
magnificent. Stairs lift. 6In. wide, each 
stair being a solid mass of white marble, 
and richly carpeted in crimson, the hand-rail 
on either side of mosaic gold, the walls 
imitation marble. The roof — which is 
supported by marble Corinthian columns — 
is simply superb. Gold and cream, interspersed 
with hand-painted wreaths of fruit and 
flowers; the perspective— especially of the 
alcove — is wonderful : the pattern gradually 
recedijAU I tt£ febtT Vr£lfil&i4ltC UJ&6t^ rics a. Note, 




too, the exquisite light and shade, and 
I think you will agree with me that nothing 
more perfect of its kind could be seen. 

The wells of the staircase contain bronzes, 
replete with iced glass fittings for electric 
light; while for concert and ball occasions 
the ** messes you see on either side of the 
hand-rails are filled with zinc fittings, to carry 
palms, ferns, and choice exotics. 

The photo, here introduced was taken on 
the occasion of a State ball, and is particu- 
larly happy in effect When we have pro- 
ceeded up the first broad flight, we find 
ourselves on a landing, from which stairs 
diverge In exactly opposite directions, with 
a flight facing us. We take this one> and 
mounting upwards, find ourselves in the 
" East » or u Promenade Gallery." A 
splendid place for promenade this — about 
105ft in length, lighted by electricity, richly 
carpeted in crimson, and provided with 
luxurious settees and chairs* The ceiling 
is beautifully painted, the walls are imitation 
marblej having painted panels of baskets of 
flowers. Costly marble chimney-pieces have 
medallions of the masters in the centre (in 
one I noticed Rubens) and a continuation 
of figures, flowers, etc. 

On the mantels is some priceless por- 

celain, most of it Sfevres. Ancient cabinets 
of tortoiseshell, buhl, and inlaid ivory — one 
of them, at any rate, a " Boule " (whose best 
work was executed about 1700}. Pedestals 
and busts, mythological and French, all call 
for prolonged examination. Here hangs 
Fritlvs famous picture of the marriage of 
the Prince of Wales. Sometimes you may 
miss it, though, for this is one the public 
like the loan of, and not long ago It journeyed 
to Melbourne and back, for the benefit of 
our Australian friends. 

Sir R Leighton is also represented by his 
" Cimabue's Madonna Carried Through the 
Streets of Florence, 5 " and Sir M. A. Shee 
with his portrait of the first Marquis of 
Wellesley. The doors leading from this 
gallery are worthy of notice. They are a 
pair of three-fold folding doors, each one 
inclosed within revolving doors, so that 
they really open nearly the width of the 
promenade. They have massive plate-glass 
panels, with Spanish mahogany frames and 
metal mounts. Through these doors, then, 
we enter the State ball-room— also doing duty 
as a concert-room. This was only finished 
in 1856, and cost ,£300,000, Most of the 
decoration was by Graner. It is a truly 
noble apartment, measuring 109ft- by 58ft. 

from a PhviQ. by I 

,„. n, .,,,,,, ..,r <>;„-. MCHkiAtk.*-.* 



From a Fhuta. by] 


and 45ft, in height It has a magnificently 
painted roof, with twenty-one sunlights 
answering for gas and ventilation, the shafts 
running right through. Running round 
beneath the frieze are copies of Raphael's 
"Twelve Hours," 

The walls are panelled in crimson silk of 
rose, shamrock, 
and thistle pattern, 
having thereon 
some pictures of 
the Muses ; the 
settees are uphol- 
stered in the same 
colour, watered 
silk and satin stripe 
pattern* On the 
elevation on either 
side of the room 
are some chased 
ormolu candelabra 
by Barbedienne, 
the floor itself 
being satinwood 
and n\ahogany. 

At one end is 
the fine organ that 
formerly stood in 
the Brighton Pavi- 
lion; the orchestra 
being erected im- 
mediately an front 
for State concerts. 

On the front of 
the inclosure, the 
costly - looking 
hanging of crim- 
son velvet and 
gold was at one 
time the tent of 
Tippoo Sahib, 
taken at Veil ore. 

Be the occasion 
concert or hall, it 
is a grand sight to 
witness j and one 
that cannot be 
equalled; ren- 
dered doubly im- 
pressive when the 
company - — gener- 
ally about three 
hundred— rise to 
their feet upon the 
entrance of the 
Royal Family, 
The rich costumes 
of the ladies ; the 
Court, military, 
naval, and Ambassadors' dress ; the flashing 
jewels and the artistic surroundings; the 
exquisite strains of music rising and falling — 
once you witness this, it is a picture that 
never fades from your memory. 

At the opposite end of the room is an 
alcove decorated in character with all the 

H. II". King. 


Ui HT. Kin& 



rest, and in front of this is situated the 
dais. Here the Royal Family sit for the 
performance, and at this end of the room 
space is kept for the Royal quadrilles. Some 
enjoyable dances the youthful members have 
had, too, entering into the spirit of it as much 
as anyone then. 

On the left of the ball-room is a promenade 
known as the "Annexe Gallery "j this was 
built some time back at the suggestion of 
H,R*£L the Prince of Wales, and is useful not 
only for the purpose I have named, but it also 
improves the atmosphere of the ball-room ; 
it is 72ft. in length, fitted with electric light, 
decorated in cream and gold, and furnished 
in crimson and gold. There are two mytho- 
logical busts on pedestals, and also pedestals 
to carry plants and flowers. 

This has been out of our route, but we 
return to it now by crossing the upper end of 
the ball-room in front of the dais. Now we are 

passing through, we are now in the " West " 
or "Approach Gallery," 

This has ceiling and walls each painted, 
the latter having floral centres to panels 
framed in gold ; the carved gold -framed furni- 
ture is upholstered in rich crimson, the doors 
being imitation satinwood with glass panels, 
and over them some excellent statuary carv- 
ing. About half-way down are doors leading 
into the "Cross Gallery," the other end 
opening into the " East Gallery." It is only 
a slight deviation, so we will just take a brief 

It is handsomely decorated in cream and 
gold, with hand-painted enrichments of Indian 
corn-stalk. There are some beautiful mirrors 
in massive panelled gold settings, and hang- 
ings and furniture of crimson and gold. 

Returning to the West Gallery we are again 
in the order of procession, and presently find 
ourselves in the " State Dining Room." This 

Frum u l*h>U*. bgl 

MATK lunim;-j.wm. 

[B. W* Kin e . 

faced by the " crush barriers," the first of a 
series at the entrance to each room until we 
reach the Throne, These are only placed 
for Drawing Rooms, and will presently be 
guarded by " Gen tie men-at- Arms." The rails 
are burnished brass, with plush -covered 
hand-rail, and through the gate it is only 
possible for one at a time to pass. Ourselves 

is capable of seating a large number, being 75ft 
by 34ft. It was in this r<;;;ni that the wedding 
breakfast was laid for the Duke and Duchess 
of Fife ; and it may, ere long, be used for 
another event of even greater interest — one 
that will celebrate the nuptials of a future 
king and qiW*K3' na ' i"rom 

Ea^W'totEftc-tS'Vsv^ feAifeC Hll 1 - jutfi- seems more 


beautiful than the last, the decorations of 
this being really superb. Cream and gold are 
predominant on the ceiling, arms and orders 
being interspersed with brilliant effect Over 
the doors "WJL" and " V.R," show the 
different periods of decorative work, these 
letters being surmounted with prosceniums of 
gold carved fruit and flowers. The walls are 
covered with salmon flock-paper, the floor 
carpeted in crimson "Wilton/' showing a 
parquetry bordering of satin and rosewood. 
The doors are panelled in plate glass, with 
metal mouldings and ormolu mounts. 

Even the shutters to the windows are an 
interesting study. They are circular, show- 
ing some of the finest joinery known, and 
have ormolu u money " mouldings. The 
curtains are heavy crimson silk with gold 
border and fringe. The chimney-pieces are 
choice carved marble, with friezes of ormolu, 
rose, shamrock, and thistle design. On one 
is a Vulliamy u Zodiacic ,J timepiece in 
marble and ormolu ; also some beautiful 
Sfevres in turquoise and " Bleu de roi. JJ 
Other specimens are scattered about the room 
on side- tables. The sideboards are massive 

mahogany with ormolu mounted backs- On 
the walls are the following portraits, life-sized, 
and in costly massive frames : Duke of Cumber- 
land (Gainsborough), George III,, Queen 
Charlotte, and Anne Duchess of Cumberland, 
each painted by the same master hand. Also 
there are Augusta Princess of Wales and 
Frederick Prince of Wales, by Van Loo ; 
George IL, by Shackleton, and Caroline, his 
Queen, by Seeman. 

Before leaving this room I must not forget 
to say that it was here the wedding breakfast 
was laid for Her Majesty the Queen and the 
Prince Consort ; the entire decoration being 
in pure white. 

We pass on to the " Blue Drawing 
Room. ,J Notice the handsome plate-glass 
panelled doors with rich ormolu mounts, 
each surmounted with a crown, as you 
pass through* Then pause and gaze on 
the general effect of the grandly beautiful 
interior. The ceiling is a fine specimen of 
elliptical carving: bressummers support arches 
in which are carved reliefs representing the 
apotheosis of the poets. The carpet of this 
room is a feature : it is a beautiful Axminster, 

Frvnt a Photo, by] 





/**ro»M *t t'htiUt. bf\ 

woven in one piece (the room is 6oft 6im 
long and 28ft wide), and the colours are 
so rich, the design so perfect, that it looks 
like a painting. The roof is supported by 
imitation marble columns with gilded Corin- 
thian cap and base, the walls panelled in 
blue silk, the furniture carved and burnished 
gold, the coverings to match walls and curtains. 
Two massive side-tables are worthy of your 
attention ; they are 8ft. long, have massive 
ormolu mounts, and are inlaid with pebbles 
in Genoa green marble. On one is a soap- 
stone bowl, taken from the Emperor's Palace 
at Pekin, in October, i860, and presented to 
the Queen by Sir Hope Grant, Commander 
of the British Forces in China. Marble and 
ormolu candelabra, Sfevres china, and antique 
timepieces are plentiful. One clock in par- 
ticular deserves special mention ; it is marble, 
has three dials, denoting hour, day, and 
month, surmounted by an ivory globe. 

The paintings are Charles L and Henrietta 
Maria (Van Dyck), Her Majesty Queen 
Victoria and H + R*H. Prince Albert (R 
W i nter halter), Princesses Royal, Augusta, 
and Elizabeth (Gainsborough), and Duke of 
Buckingham and family (Houthorst), 

Now we proceed to the " Bow Saloon/ 5 
This room has a most superbly decorated 

dome roof; rose, shamrock, and thistle, 
interspersed with feathers, done in cream and 
gold relief, and all radiating from the centre. 
From it depend some of the most graceful and 
wondrous crystal chandeliers that have ever 
been made- Above the lights depends and 
droops the most perfect rep re sen Lit inn of 
" colours trooping," the very fold of the 
silken banners being here produced. There 
is some beautiful sculpture in relief just 
beneath the " dome "; that on the side facing 
the bow represents t( Eloquence/' that on 
the north, " Harmony," that on the south, 
"Pleasure/* There are sixteen supporting 
columns of scagliola, resembling lapis lazuli, 
with gilded bases and capitals. There are 
two marble chimney-pieces, one depicting 
the "Birth of Venus," and beautiful shell- 
work surrounding the sculptured figures. 

On one mantel stands a malachite and 
ormolu thermometer, on the other a time- 
piece of the same composition. There are 
two malachite and ormolu candelabra on 
burnished gold pedestals, and others of 
carved and burnished lions on tripods. Also 
examine some more of the priceless S&vres 
china in this room, and especially note an 
inimitable cameo revolving Roman table. In 
the cejtkNfe'f^tho Eropfe^iHjVI^ftndra, a circle 



round denoting a procession of warriors^ the 
outer edge depicting trophies and arms ; the 
base is a shield with spears for pedestal. 
This room is hung with rich crimson velvet 
curtains, with furniture of burnished gold 
and crimson silk. The floor is carpeted in 
rich Saxony, leaving an ample border of 
inlaid satin wood of pattern to match ceiling. 
The proportions of the saloon are 50ft. by 
29ft, and it, of course, takes its name from 
the shape. 

The next room, called the " White Draw- 
ing Room,' ? is the most beautiful of all. Not 
long since it was redecorated at enormous 
cost, and presents an appearance so grand, so 
imposing, yet so graceful and artistic, that 
words cannot adequately describe or por- 
tray it, and unfortunately no photograph lias 
been taken since these renovations, A 
number of syenite pilasters, with gilded 
bases and capitals, support a ceiling ex- 
quisitely decorated in relief; the rose, 
shamrock, and thistle, in pure white and 
gold, having an especially brilliant appearance. 
Under it arc some sculptured reliefs illus- 
trative of pleasure* Magnificent ormolu chan- 
deliers diffuse electric light; the curtains are 
gold silk ; the walls panelled in gold with gold 
frames, and an abundance of plate glass ; the 
furniture upholstered in gold with burnished 
frames showing splendidly carved lions and 
crowns on backs and supports. The floor, 
richly carpeted in gold and white Brussels, 
has a costly 
bordering of satin 

and holly wood* 

with inlaid devices 

of tulip and rose 

wood. The marble 

chimneys are rare 

examples of sculp- 
tured figures and 


the mantels are 

French clocks, 

Sevres china, and 

ormolu 4t horns of 

plenty " candela- 
bra ; while in the 

fireplaces are 

some fine ormolu 

fire-dogs, with 

gold screens 

standing near. 
There are some 

costly cabinets 

(16th century), 

one having inlaid 

doors of ebony, 

ormolu, and pebbles in relief ; the drawers of 
tulip-wood, the back surmounted with some 
exquisitely chased ormolu figures. On one 
or two cabinets stand Roman candelabra, 
and inside, seen through glass, is Sevres 
china, some of it jewelled* An Italian-case 
grand piano is a special feature, showing 
hand-painted flowers and grotesque figures ; 
the interior is an Erard, and very sweet is its 

Now note these two immense Indian vases 
on gilded pedestals ; they have hand-painted 
battle-scenes upon them, not named, but 
one looking to me very much like the field of 
Waterloo ; a tree, a farm, and the uniforms 
giving colour to this idea. These vases 
were presented to Her Majesty on her mar- 
riage by the Emperor of Germany, They 
are at opposite ends of the room, and between 
them stands a marble pedestal supporting a 
costly French timepiece, There are three 
full length paintings : Peter the Great 
(Sir Godfrey Kneller), Archbishop Fenelon 
(Rigaud), and Anne Hyde, Duchess of York 
(Sir P. Uly), 

There is something that you would not 
think of looking for in the top left-hand 
corner of the room. It is faced by a cabinet, 
and above it is a massive mirror; one touch, 
however, with the hand of the initiated, and 
mirror and cabinet open intact into the room, 
and you have immediate entrance to the 
" Royal Closet" 

{II. W. fiinv 



Concert, Ball Room, and Drawing Room 
frequenters come not here : it is for the sole 
and exclusive use of Her Majesty and those 
of her family who are going into the Throne 
Room with her to receive any of her faithful 
subjects or foreign ambassadors. Your 
way would have been through a door from 
the White Drawing Room, leading into the 
Picture Gallery, along the top of which you 
would cross, so entering the Throne Room by 
a door exactly opposite. This Royal Closet 
contains some very choice and rare art 
treasures, of which the lovely collection of 
enamels is not the least : the one you will 
observe over the doorway leading to the 
vestibule is the largest known. The subject 
of it is " The Holy Family." 

Here may be seen cabinets, the most 
costly and beautiful in the Palace. One 
you will notice standi ng on the left is of inlaid 
pebbles, with ormolu carvings, and has pearl 
jardinieres of fruit in the centre ; the panels 
surrounded with birds and floral designs. In 
another part of the room is a fine inlaid table 
with a Phoenix in the centre of real lapis 
lazuli. On an elaborate ormolu stand is an 
ivory inlaid cabinet mounted on pillars ; and 
still another shows pebbles of every shade in 
relief, and of great variety of design. The 
chimney-piece is supported by carved satyrs, 
a frieze of ormolu running round the fire- 
place. On the mantel is one of Vulliamy's 
best timepieces in marble and ormolu. 

Walls and furniture are all clad in crimson 
silk, the latter having richly designed frames 
overlaid with burnished gold. 

Of course, you will readily understand 
that it is quite impossible for me to point 
out to you the whole of the treasures, either 
in this or any other of the rooms. Were I 
to do so it would literally fill a volume, 
so I am compelled to content myself with 
selecting just a few as we go along. From 
here, then, Her Majesty and the other 
members of the family proceed vid the 
vestibule to the Throne Room, so we will 
just take a brief glance at this vestibule before 
returning to the route proper. The Ministers' 
staircase, the entrance to which I pointed 
out to you at one end of the Sculpture 
Gallery, terminates here ; so you will at once 
see how much less distance has to be covered 
by those coming this way and those who 
have to go through the entire suite we have 

The ceiling is decorated in royal blue, 
gold and green, with ornamental chandeliers 
burning oil ; and I may here remark that 
though electric light is carried into a number 

of the rooms, and gas is by no means left 
out, yet candles of wax, and chandeliers 
carrying oil lamps, are in much favour. Note 
the very handsome French clock, and then 
turn your attention to the two canvas portraits 
on the staircase. One is of Her Majesty the 
Queen, and the other H.R.H. the Prince 
Consort, both by Francis Xaver Winter- 

Now we return to the line of procession 
again. Crossing the top of the Picture 
Gallery, which place we shall see later on, and 
taking the door pointed out before, we emerge 
by it direct into the Throne Room, not 
facing the Throne, but on the right of that as 
it faces us. This room is of magnificent 
proportions, 6oft. by 35ft, and as we stand 
for one or two minutes and look around, it 
naturally occurs to us to picture the brilliant 
scenes that have been enacted therein. 
Picturesque and splendid indeed it is when 
beauty, wealth, and valour are gathered 
together; all aided and intensified by 
the artistic and solidly grand surround- 
ings. Even now as we stand here 
military music in the distance tells us that 
the time for one of the brilliant functions of 
the season is drawing nigh. Presently the 
Gentlemen-at-Arms will be here on guard, 
the Diplomatic Corps will assemble, together 
with the high officials of the State and 
Household ; Royalty will take up their posi- 
tion about the Throne; and then the long 
line of debutantes will slowly advance for 
presentation, resplendent in feathers, jewels, 
and rich laces and silks. 

The first thing to inspect here is obvi- 
ously the Throne; it, of course, stands on 
a dais of massive carving and burnished gold, 
and is covered with crimson velvet. The chair 
is capacious and well cushioned, but, some- 
how, does not look particularly comfortable ; 
neither do I think it proves itself so, for Her 
Majesty prefers to occupy a smaller and 
more easy-looking chair in the front. The 
canopy is exceedingly handsome, rich crimson 
velvet with the Royal Arms wrought in 
gold. A large bressummer, with angle trusses 
beneath, extending nearly the width of the 
room, forms an alcove in which the Throne 
stands. The ceiling is richly emblazoned 
with shields and armorial bearings, emble- 
matic of the United Kingdom of Great 
Britain and annexation of Hanover; the 
frieze below is adorned with bassi-rilievi 
illustrative of the Wars of the Roses. 

There are two fireplaces with chimney-pieces 
of marble, having sculptured figures holding 
wreaths of laurel in the centre, and continua- 



tions of trophies emblematical of the Army ; 
the fire-dogs are ormolu dragons* On the 
mantels you will see some Sevres in turquoise 
blue, and other specimens of a variety of 
painting in colours. 

Opposite notice a fine clock, by Pinch- 
beck; it is of tortoisesheil, having columns 
surmounted by a dome. It has four dials - 
time, day and date, wind and tide, and an 
astronomical dial 

The curtains are of crimson silk, edged 
with gold lace, the furniture to match \ but 
as people do not go to the Throne Room to 
sit as a general rule, the furniture is a small 
item. The floor is carpeted with Brussels. 
I believe Her Majesty prefers this make, 
as, though Axminster and velvet-pile look 
uncommonly effective and rich, yet there 
is a sort of rotary motion when walking 
upon them that is a deal more tiring 
than when it is of a firm texture. Chande- 
liers and candelabra diffuse electric and 
candle light, throwing a brilliant radiance 
around , bringing the rich colours into relief, 
and lighting up the painted portraiture con- 
sisting of Queen Charlotte and George III., 
both by Ramsay; Charlotte Princess Royal, 
and William Duke of Clarence, George 
Prince of Wales^ and Frederick Duke of 
York, both by Zoffany. 

Passing through the handsome doors facing 
the Throne, we enter the "Green Drawing 
Room," not quite so large a room as the 
former, but only a little decrease in the length. 

From a f*hf*tn. h yl 

Vol. vi.-3< 

Here you see every shade of the colour from 
which the room takes its name, the whole re- 
lieved with borders of burnish and gilt, 
together with mounts of ormolu. This room 
is used on ball and concert nights for light 
refreshments, such as tea and coffee, fruit and 
champagne* The roof is decorated in white 
and gold, the walls panelled in striped green 
silk in frames of gold. This apartment is 
carpeted in Axminster with a parquetry border 
of satin and rose wood, the furniture green 
and gold to match. 

There are several good portraits of members 
of the Royal Families of former reigns, also of 
the children of Philip II, of Spain ; the artists 
being Gainsborough, Ramsay, Wright, Copley, 
and Dance, Now pass through these 
handsome doors, and you are in the tf Guard 
Chamber." Before looking at anything here, 
though, turn round for one moment, and you 
will find that from here you have a clear view 
of the Throne ; consequently, those immedi- 
ately near the Throne have a clear view 
of you : not only that, but you can be 
seen when you first come in, for as you 
mount the staircase, which you can view now 
by crossing the room, you find plate glass 
reflects a back view T of each of you — so, as a 
matter of fact, Her Majesty can watch you, if 
she chooses to do so, long before you are in 
the presence. 

There are two or three other rooms of 
interest, but in order to see them we had 
better descend to the landing where the 

" double exit " ter- 
minates \ then turn 
round, and go up 
the same staircase 
as when w T e first 
commenced the 
"Upper State 
Rooms/' By this 
means, if you re- 
member, we arrived 
first in the Pro- 
menade Gallery. 

We now T take a 
door on the left of 
that, and are at 
once in the 
** Supper Room." 
This is of splendid 
proportions, very 
lofty, and sixty feet 
square. There are 
immense side- 
hoards of mahog- 
any and ormolu, 
I C Hffl*. hpupper - tables 



being arranged rouna three sides of the 
room ; these being fully set before the 
guests come in. Very beautiful is the effect \ 
the costly and matchless plate, the glass, 
flowers, and china having an appearance 
simply indescribable. In the midst of all is 
the beautiful fountain designed by H.R.H. 
the Prince Consort ; a piece of plate of such 
magnificence and artistic beauty, that it is 
worth a special journey to the Palace to see it, 
I may here say that every dish that is put 
on is prepared in the Royal kitchens- -fine 
apartments these, which I shall not be able to 
describe to you for want of space* There 

description of it as I have seen it on the 
occasion of a " State Concert" 

Now we will recross the Promenade, and 
so enter the u Wilkie " Room : ho named from 
the number of works of that master hung 
there. From here we can walk direct into the 
** Picture Gallery. ,J You have already crossed 
the top of this^ but had not time for 
other than a brief glance. Here a lover 
of art could very easily spend an entire 
day, so beauteous and so varied are the 
studies. Suffice it to say that there are some 
of the finest examples of Flemish and Dutch, 
Italian and English masters, George IV. 

Frvmu I 3 hob* by] 


| TL W King. 

are two sets of doors into the room, each 
opening from the Promenade Gallery, and 
enter by which you may, you are confronted 
by the most magnificent display of plate in 
Europe, This is kept at Windsor, and 
brought here for special occasions ; then 
mounted on three immense buffets, facing 
the doors, one in the centre and one at each 
corner, When I say that its beauty dazzles 
and bewilders, I only very faintly convey to 
your minds the real effect To-day, being a 
" Drawing Room/' it is not en Evidence ^ so I 
cannot do more than point out to you its 
location when present, and give the faintest 

really founded the collection, purchasing 
a large number from Sir J. Baring, and 
Queen Victoria has increased the number to 
a considerable extent Some good examples 
of Titian, 1477-1576, must be mentioned ; 
of Teniers, 1610—1690; of Rembrandt, 
1 607-1669 (the "Adoration of the Magi" 
needs no words) ; of Peter Paul Rubens, 
1577-1640; of Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
1723-1792; of Van Dyck, 1599-1641; 
of Cornells Janssens, 1590 - 1665, and 
many others which cajinot now be noticed, 

In order to secure a good light, the roof 
has ilhUiftB6SRi\i^F M(jtt|j3lfcHts, having a 



floral coved centre, with circular side -lights ; 
all of cut glass decorated with Orders of the 
Garter, etc^ and side continuations of 
festooned architecture. Electric light sheds 
its rays from five massive ormolu chandeliers, 
The door-heads are supported by figures, and 
have marble jambs with ormolu mounts ; those 
at either end having a clock in the centre of 
medallions surmounted with crowns and urns 
of fruit There are four fireplaces with inaxble 
chimney-pieces, having medallions in the 
centre containing sculptured busts of some of 
the great masters, on either side being figures 
supporting wreaths. The walls have a flock- 
paper, the furniture is covered in crimson 
floral -traced silk, having carved frames of 
burnished gold, and the floor is also carpeted 
in the same colour. 

At either end is some beautiful pure white 
marble statuary : "A Sea Nymph" in the act 
of spearing a fish, " Mars and Venus," "The 
Siren," with harp of gold wires, and "Venus 
and Cupid/' Venus reposing on a lion-skin, 

height of 30ft, you will understand the truly 
grand effect of the whole. 

You will be much interested in seeing the 
photos uf two or three of the private rooms 
of Her Majesty and the late Prince Consort. 
Crowded as they are with the rarest of paint- 
ings, enamels, cabinets, and every variety of 
artistic treasure, it is quite impossible to do 
more than call your attention to the views. 

But now the regimental music is emitting 
the sweetest of strains in court-yard and 
quadrangle: ** Yeomen of the Guard" and 
" Gen tlemen-at- Arms" are taking up their posi- 
tions in the rooms at the word of command, 
with clatter of sword and rattle of halberds ; 
State footmen in white knee-breeches, with 
coats of blue and heavy gold facings, are 
taking their places as guides, here and there 
forming a thin avenue through which visitors 
must pass ; and as we descend the grand 
staircase we find the doors are open, and the 
procession is filing across the Marble Hall 
to the Bow Library — their cloak-room 

From a Phuta, by\ 


[//. |i Kin V . 

that is so exquisitely sculptured as to present 
the appearance of velvety softness peculiar 
to that animaFs covering- 

When I tell you that this gallery is 
152ft. 6in. in length, 38ft wide, and has a 

Come with me to the Sculpture Gallery, 
and there watch awhile. See the stately 
dowagers and matrons in velvet, silk, and 
diamonds as_ they sweep across ; they have 
been before,-! and'rstedfanlfepjite comfortable, 



laugh and talk, look around them, and claim 
acquaintance with others equally at home; 
but turn from them and gaze upon those who 
have come for presentation, and you cannot 
fail to notice the difference of demeanour. 
Anxiety — nay* absolute fright -is depicted on 
some faces, traces of want of sleep on others ; 

can sit and compare notes until such time as 
the Royal party have entered the Throne 
Room, when they will advance in single file 
through the crush barriers on to the 
doors of /A? room, when, the Lord Chamber- 
lain calling their names in stentorian tones, 
they advance with all the grace and 

KTvm a Fhafa byl 


H. W. Jftuff. 

trains are carried first on one arm, then on 
the other, and the majority look as though 
they wish it was all over and they awa 
Certainly the scene is brilliant, for it is noc 
only the dresses of the ladies one sees, but 
also the military, naval, and Court ; and the 
most magnificent display of orchids, roses, 
lilies, Malmaison carnations, and Victoria 
showers of mingled foliage it is possible to 
imagine ; all made up in such a pretty, 
natural way, with their trailing creepers and 
hanging ribbons, that they heighten the 
effect of the costumes considerably. Now 
some of the (l Corps Diplomatique " ap- 
pear in their State dress, two Royal 
pages pass in scarlet and plumes, and 
the company are rapidly passing from 
the cloak-room up the grand staircase, and 
so on to the State Dining Room ; where they 

courage they can muster ; make their 
curtsy, and retire as speedily as etiquette 
will permit. 

But now the National Anthem is heard in 
the quadrangle, and if we hurry to the end 
of the gallery near the " Ministers* Stairs/ 1 
we shall witness the entrance into the gallery 
and the passage up the staircase* 

It is the Marlborough House party that 
has just arrived, and pass close to us, the 
equerries in advance making their way 
upwards with faces to Royalty* The Princess 
Christian and her daughter {who have been 
taking luncheon in the Carnarvon Room 
opposite) also wend their way upwards with 
the same state, and as the clock strikes three 
—the hour of commencement — the last of 
Royalty haiQricikiembled in the Throne 




From a Photo. h#] 

HER majesty's dressing-room* 

tif- W, Kinv. 

Once again the strains of the National 
Anthem fall on our ears, as some of the 
family leave the Palace. Can I find better 

words to close this than those that are sung 
throughout the length and breadth of the 
land—" God Save the Queen " ? 

Pnm a Fhotu. by\ 


W. Eiw 

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. 

By A. Conan Doyle, 

NE summer night, a few months 
;ifter my marriage, I was seated 
by my own hearth smoking a 
last pipe and nodding over a 
novel, for my day's work had 
been an exhausting one. My 
wife had already gone upstairs, and the sound 
of the locking of the hall door some time be- 
fore told me that the servants had also retired. 
I had risen from my seat and was knocking 
out the ashes of my pipe, when I suddenly 
heard the clang of the bell, 

I looked at the clock. It was 
a quarter to twelve. This could 
not be a visitor at so late an hour, 
A patient, evidently, and possibly 
an all-night sitting, With a wry 
face I went out into the hall and 
opened the door. To my as- 
tonishment, it was Sherlock 
Holmes who stood upon my step. 

"Ah, Watson, 11 said he, £i I 
hoped that I might not be too 
late to catch you," 

" My dear fellow, pray come in." 

" You look surprised, and no 
wonder I Relieved, too, 1 fancy ! 
Hum ! you still smoke the Ar- 
cadia mixture of your bachelor 
days, then ! There's no mistaking 
that fluffy ash upon your coat 
It's easy to tell that you've been 
accustomed to wear a uniform, 
Watson; you'll never pass as a 
pure-bred civilian as long as you 
keep that habit of carrying your 
handkerchief in your sleeve. 
Could you put me up to-night ? n 

"With pleasure-" 

II You told me that you had 
bachelor quarters for one, and T 
see that you have no gentleman 
visitor at present Your hat-stand 
proclaims as much." 

" I shall be delighted if you 
will stay," 

"Thank you, I'll fill a vacan 

peg, then. Sorry to see that youVe had the 
British workman in the house, He's a token 
of evil Not the drains, I hope ? " 

" No, the gas." 

u Ah! He has left two nail-marks from 
his boot upon your linoleum just where the 
light strikes it. No, thank you, I had some 
supper at Waterloo, but 111 smoke a pipe 
with you with pleasure." 

I handed him my pouch, and he seated 
himself opposite to me, and smoked for some 


Original from 



time in silence. I was well aware that 
nothing but business of importance could 
have brought him to me at such an hour, so 
I waited patiently until he should come 
round to it. 

" I see that you are professionally rather 
busy just now," said he, glancing very keenly 
across at me. 

" Yes, I've had a busy day," I answered. 
"It may seem very foolish in your eyes," I 
added, "but really I don't know how you 
deduced it." 

Holmes chuckled to himself. 

"I have the advantage of knowing your 
habits, my dear Watson," said he. " When 
your round is a short one you walk, and 
when it is a long one you use a hansom. As 
I perceive that your boots, although used, 
are by no means dirty, I cannot doubt that 
you are at present busy enough to justify the 

"Excellent!" I cried 

" Elementary," said he. " It is one of those 
instances where the reasoner can produce an 
effect which seems remarkable to his neigh- 
bour, because the latter has missed the one 
little point which is the basis of the deduction. 
The same may be said, my dear fellow, for 
the effect of some of these little sketches of 
yours, which is entirely meretricious, depend- 
ing as it does upon your retaining in your 
own hands some factors in the problem which 
are never imparted to the reader. Now, at 
present I am in the position of these same 
readers, for I hold in this hand several 
threads of one of the strangest cases which 
ever perplexed a man's brain, and yet I lack 
the one or two which are needful to complete 
my theory. But I'll have them, Watson, I'll 
have them ! " His eyes kindled and a slight 
flush sprang into his thin cheeks. For an 
instant the veil had lifted upon his keen, in- 
tense nature, but for an instant only. When I 
glanced again his face had resumed that 
Red Indian composure which had made 
so many regard him as a machine rather than 
a man. 

"The problem presents features of in- 
terest," said he ; "I may even say very ex- 
ceptional features of interest. I have already 
looked into the matter, and have come, as I 
think, within sight of my solution. If you 
could accompany me in that last step, you 
might be of considerable service to me." 

" I should be delighted." 

" Could you go as far as Aldershot 
to-morrow ? " 

" I have no doubt Jackson would take my 

" Very good. I want to start by the 1 io 10 
from Waterloo." 

" That would give me time." 

" Then, if you are not too sleepy, I will give 
you a sketch of what has happened and of 
what remains to be done." 

"I was sleepy before you came. I am 
quite wakeful now." 

" I will compress the story as far as may 
be done without omitting anything vital to 
the case. It is conceivable that you may 
even have read some account of the matter. 
It is the supposed murder of Colonel Barclay, 
of the Royal Mallows, at Aldershot which I 
am investigating." 

" I have heard nothing of it" 

" It has not excited much attention yet, 
except locally. The facts are only two days 
old. Briefly they are these : — 

" The Royal Mallows is, as you know, one 
of the most famous Irish regiments in the 
British Army. It did wonders both in the 
Crimea and the Mutiny, and has since that 
time distinguished itself upon every possible 
occasion. It was commanded up to Monday 
night by James Barclay, a gallant veteran, 
who started as a full private, was raised to 
commissioned rank for his bravery at the 
time of the Mutiny, and so lived to command 
the regiment in which he had once carried a 

" Colonel Barclay had married at the time 
when he was a sergeant, and his wife, whose 
maiden name was Miss Nancy Devoy, was 
the daughter of a former colour-sergeant in 
the same corps. There was therefore, as can 
be imagined, some little social friction when 
the young couple (for they were still young) 
found themselves in their new surroundings. 
They appear, however, to have quickly 
adapted themselves, and Mrs. Barclay has 
always, I understand, been as popular with 
the ladies of the regiment as her husband 
was with his brother officers. I may add 
that she was a woman of great beauty, and 
that even now, when she has been married 
for upwards of thirty years, she is still of a 
striking appearance. 

" Colonel Barclay's family life appears to 
have been a uniformly happy one. Major 
Murphy, to whom I owe most of my facts, 
assures me that he has never heard of any 
misunderstanding between the pair. On the 
whole, he thinks that Barclay's devotion to 
his wife was greater than his wife's to Barclay, 
He was acutely uneasy if he were absent 
from her for a day. She, on the other 
hand, though devoted and faithful, was less 
obtrusively affectionate. Eat they were 



regarded in the regiment as the very model 
of a middle-aged couple. There was 
absolutely nothing in their mutual relations 
to prepare people for the tragedy which was 
to follow. 

"Colonel Barclay himself seems to have 
had some singular traits in his character. 
He was a dashing, jovial old soldier in his 
usual mood, but there were occasions on 
which he seemed to show himself capable of 
considerable violence and vindictiveness. 
This side of his nature, however, appears 
never to have been turned towards his wife. 
Another fact which had struck Major Murphy, 
and three out of five of the other officers with 
whom I conversed, was the singular sort of 
depression which came upon him at times. 
As the Major expressed it, the smile had 
often been struck from his mouth, as if by 
some invisible hand, when he has been joining 
in the gaieties and chaff of the mess table. 
For days on end when the mood was on him 
he has been sunk in the deepest gloom. 
This and a certain tinge of superstition were 
the only unusual traits in his character which 
his brother officers had observed. The latter 
peculiarity took the form of a dislike to being 
left alone, especially after dark. This puerile 
feature in a nature which was conspicuously 
manly had often given rise to comment and 

" The first battalion of the Royal Mallows 
(which is the old 117th) has been stationed 
at Aldershot for some years. The married 
officers live out of barracks, and the Colonel 
has during all this time occupied a villa 
called I^achine, about half a mile from the 
North Camp. The house stands in its own 
grounds, but the west side of it is not more 
than thirty yards from the high road. A 
coachman and two maids form the staff of 
servants. These, with their master and 
mistress, were the sole occupants of Lachine, 
for the Barclays had no children, nor was it 
usual for them to have resident visitors. 

" Now for the events at Lachine between 
nine and ten on the evening of last Monday. 

" Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member 
of the Roman Catholic Church, and had 
interested herself very much in the establish- 
ment of the Guild of St. George, which was 
formed in connection with the Watt Street 
Chapel for the purpose of supplying the poor 
with cast-off clothing. A meeting of the 
Guild had been held that evening at eight, 
and Mrs. Barclay had hurried over her dinner 
in order to be present at it. When leaving 
the house, she was heard by the coachman 
to make some commonplace remark to her 

husband, and to assure him that she would 
be back before very long. She then called 
for Miss Morrison, a young lady who lives in 
the next villa, and the two went off together 
to their meeting. It lasted forty minutes, and 
at a quarter past nine Mrs. Barclay returned 
home, having left Miss Morrison at her door 
as she passed. 

"There is a room which is used as a 
morning-room at Lachine. This faces the 
road and opens by a large glass folding door 
on to the lawn. The lawn is thirty yards 
across, and is only divided from the highway 
by a low wall with an iron rail above it It 
was into this room that Mrs. Barclay went 
upon her return. The blinds were not down, 
for the room was seldom used in the evening, 
but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and then 
rang the bell, asking Jane Stewart, the house- 
maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was 
quite contrary to her usual habits. The 
Colonel had been sitting in the dining-room, 
but hearing that his wife had returned, he 
joined her in the morning-room. The coach- 
man saw him cross the hall, and enter it. He 
was never seen again alive. 

"The tea which had been ordered was 
brought up at the end of ten minutes, but 
the maid, as she approached the door, was 
surprised to hear the voices of her master and 
mistress in furious altercation. She knocked 
without receiving any answer, and even turned 
the handle, but only to find that the door 
was locked upon the inside. Naturally 
enough, she ran down to tell the cook, 
and the two women with the coachman came 
up into the hall and listened to the dispute 
which was still raging. They all agree that 
only two voices were to be heard, those of 
Barclay and of his wife. Barclay's remarks 
were subdued and abrupt, so that none of 
them were audible to the listeners. The 
lady's, on the other hand, were most bitter, 
and, when she raised her voice, could be 
plainly heard. * You coward ! ' she repeated 
over and over again. 'What can be done 
now? What can be done now? Give me 
back my life. I will never so much as breathe 
the same air as you again ! You coward ! 
You coward ! ' Those were scraps of her 
conversation, ending in a sudden dreadful 
cry in the man's voice, with a crash, and a 
piercing scream from the woman. Convinced 
that some tragedy had occurred, the coach- 
man rushed to the door and strove to force 
it, while scream after scream issued from 
within. He was unable, however, to make 
his way in, and the maids were too distracted 
with tar to b& of &ny assistance to him. A 




sudden thought struck him, however, and he 
ran through the ball door and round to the 
lawn, upon which the long French windows 
open. One side of the window was open, 
which I understand was quite usual in the 
summer-time, and he passed without difficulty 
into the room. His mistress had ceased to 
scream, and was stretched insensible upon a 
couch, while with his feet tilted over the side 
of an arm -chair, and hh head upon the 
ground near the corner of the fender, was 
lying the unfortunate soldier, stone dead, in 
a pool of his own blood. 

** Naturally the coachman's first thought, 
on finding that he could do nothing for his 
master, was to open the door. But here an 
unexpected and singular difficulty presented 
itself. The key was not on the inner side of 
the door, nor could he find it anywhere in 
the room. He went out again, therefore, 
through the window, and having obtained 
the help of a policeman and of a medical 
man he returned. The lady, against whom 

naturally the strongest suspicion 
rested, was removed to her room, 
still in a state of insensibility. The 
Colonel's body was then placed upon 
the sofa, and a careful examination 
made of the scene of the tragedy. 

" The injury from which the un- 
fortunate veteran was suffering was 
found to be a ragged cut, some two 
inches long, at the back part of his 
head, which had evidently been 
caused by a violent blow from a 
blunt weapon, Nor was it difficult 
to guess what that weapon may have 
been. Upon the floor, close to the 
body, was lying a singular club of 
hard carved wood with a bone 
handle. The Colonel possessed a 
varied collection of weapons brought 
from the different countries in 
which he had fought, and it is con- 
jectured by the police that this club 
was among his trophies. The ser- 
vants deny having seen it before, 
but among the numerous curiosities 
in the house it is possible that it 
may have been overlooked. Nothing 
else of importance was discovered 
in the room by the police, save the 
inexplicable fact that neither upon 
Mrs, Barclay's person, nor upon 
that of the victim, nor in any part 
of the room was the missing key to 
be found. The door had eventually 
to be opened by a locksmith from 
Alders hot 
" That was the state of things, Watson, 
when upon the Tuesday morning I, at the 
request of Major Murphy, went down to 
Aldershot to supplement the efforts of the 
police. I think you will acknowledge that 
the problem was already one of interest, 
but my observations soon made me realize 
that it was in truth much more extraordinary 
than would at first sight appear. 

"Before examining the room I cross- 
questioned the servants, but only succeeded 
in eliciting the facts which I have already 
stated. One other detail of interest was 
remembered by Jane Stewart, the house- 
maid. You will remember that on hearing 
the sound of the quarrel she descended and 
returned with the other servants. On that 
first occasion, when she was alone, she says 
that the voices of her master and mistress 
were sunk so low that she could hear hardly 
anything, and judged by their tones, rather 
than their .words,, that they had fallen out 
On mjfJ^flSb^Tlhfif iWib&HWJ'Jshe remem- 



bered that she heard the word 4 David ? 
uttered twice by the lady. The point is of 
the utmost importance as guiding us towards 
the reason of the sudden quarrel. The 
Colonel's name, you remember, was James. 

"There was one thing in the case which 
had made the deepest impression both upon 
the servants and the police. This was the 
contortion of the Colonel's face. It had set, 
according to their account, into the most 
dreadful expression of fear and horror which 
a human countenance is capable of assuming. 
More than one person fainted at the mere 
sight of him, so terrible was the effect It 
was quite certain that he had foreseen his 
fate, and that it had caused him the utmost 
horror. This, of course, fitted in well enough 
with the police theory, if the Colonel could 
have seen his wife making a murderous attack 
upon him* Nor was the feet of the wound 
being on the back of his head a fatal objection 
to this, as he might have turned to avoid 
the blow. No information could be got 
from the lady herself, who was temporarily 
insane from an acute attack of brain fever. 

"From the police I learned that Miss 
Morrison, who, you remember, went out that 
evening with Mrs, Barclay, denied having any 
knowledge of what it was which had caused 
the ill-humour in which her companion had 

" Having gathered these facts, Watson, I 
smoked several pipes over them, trying to 
separate those which were crucial from others 
which were merely incidental There could 
be no question that the most distinctive and 

suggestive point in the case was the singular 
disappearance of the door key, A most 
careful search had failed to discover it in the 
room. Therefore, it must have been taken 
from it But neither the Colonel nor the 
Colon el's wife could have taken it That was 
perfectly clear Therefore a third person must 
have entered the room. And that third person 
could only have come in through the window. 
It seemed to me that a careful examination 
of the room and the lawn might possibly 
reveal some traces of this mysterious in- 
dividual You know my methods > Watson. 
There was not one of them which I did not 
apply to the inquiry, And it ended by my 
discovering traces, but very different ones 
from those which I had expected. There 
had been a man in the room, and he had 
crossed the lawn coming from the road, I 
was able to obtain five very clear impressions 
of his footmarks — one on the roadway itself, 
at the point where he had climbed the low 
wall, two on the lawn, and two very faint 
ones upon the stained boards near the window 
where he had entered- He had apparently 
rushed across the lawn> for his toe marks 
were much deeper than his heels. But it 
was not the man who surprised me. It was 
his companion." 

" His companion ! " 

Holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue 
paper out of his pocket and carefully un- 
folded it upon his knee, 

11 What do you make of that ? * he asked. 

The paper was covered with tracings of 
the footmarks of some small animal It 






had five well-marked footpads, an indication 
of long nails, and the whole print might be 
nearly as large as a dessert spoon. 

" It's a dog," said I. 

" Did ever you hear of a dog running up 
a curtain ? I found distinct traces that this 
creature had done so." 

" A monkey, then ? " 

" But it is not the print of a monkey." 

" What can it be, then ? " 

" Neither dog, nor cat, nor monkey, nor any 
creature that we are familiar with. I have 
tried to reconstruct it from the measurements. 
Here are four prints where the beast has 
been standing motionless. You see that it 
is no less than fifteen inches from fore foot 
to hind. Add to that the length of neck and 
head, and you get a creature not much less 
than two feet long — probably more if there 
is any tail. But now observe this other 
measurement The animal has been moving, 
and we have the length of its stride. In each 
case it is only about three inches. You have 
an indication, you see, of a long body with 
very short legs attached to it. It has not 
been considerate enough to leave any of its 
hair behind it But its general shape must 
be what I have indicated, and it can run up 
a curtain and is carnivorous." 

" How do you deduce that ? " 

" Because it ran up the curtain. A canary's 
cage was hanging in the window, and its aim 
seems to have been to get at the bird." 

" Then what was the beast ? " 

" Ah, if I could give it a name it might go 
a long way towards solving the case. On the 
whole it was probably some creature of the 
weasel and stoat tribe — and yet it is larger 
than any of these that I have seen." 

" But what had it to do with the crime ? " 

"That also is still obscure. But we have 
learned a good deal, you perceive. We know 
that a man stood in the road looking at the 
quarrel between the Barclays — the blinds 
were up and the room lighted. We know 
also that he ran across the lawn, entered the 
room, accompanied by a strange animal, and 
that he either struck the Colonel, or, as is 
equally possible, that the Colonel fell down 
from sheer fright at the sight of him, and 
cut his head on the corner of the fender. 
Finally, we have the curious fact that the 
intruder carried away the key with him when 
he left." 

"Your discoveries seem to have left the 
business more obscure than it was before," 
said I. 

"Quite so. They undoubtedly showed 
that the affair was much deeper than was at 

first conjectured. I thought the matter over, 
and I came to the conclusion that I must 
approach the case from another aspect. But 
really, Watson, I am keeping you up, and 
I might just as well tell you all this on our 
way to Aldershot to-morrow." 

"Thank you, you've gone rather too far 
to stop." 

"It was quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay 
left the house at half-past seven she was on good 
terms with her husband. She was never, as 
I think I have said, ostentatiously affection- 
ate, but she was heard by the coachman chat- 
ting with the Colonel in a friendly fashion. 
Now, it was equally certain that immediately 
on her return she had gone to the room in 
which she was least likely to see her husband, 
had flown to tea, as an agitated woman will, 
and, finally, on his coming in to her, had 
broken into violent recriminations. There- 
fore, something had occurred between seven- 
thirty and nine o'clock which had completely 
altered her feelings towards him. But Miss 
Morrison had been with her during the whole 
of that hour and a half. It was absolutely 
certain, therefore in spite of her denial, that 
she must know something of the matter. 

"My first conjecture was that possibly there 
had been some passages between this young 
lady and the old soldier, which the former 
had now confessed to the wife. That would 
account for the angry return and also for the 
girl's denial that anything had occurred. Nor 
would it be entirely incompatible with most 
of the words overheard. But there was the 
reference to David, and there was the known 
affection of the Colonel for his wife to weigh 
against it, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion 
of this other man, which might of course be 
entirely disconnected with what had gone 
before. It was not easy to pick one's steps, 
but on the whole I was in clined to dismiss 
the idea that there had been anything between 
the Colonel and Miss M orrison, but more 
than ever convinced that the young lady 
held the clue as to what it was which had 
turned Mrs. Barclay to hatred of her hus- 
band. I took the obvious course therefore 
of calling upon Miss Morrison, of explaining 
to her that I was perfectly certain that she 
held the facts in her possession, and of 
assuring her that her friend, Mrs. Barclay, 
might find herself in the dock upon a capital 
charge unless the matter were cleared up. 

" Miss Morrison is a little, ethereal slip of a 
girl, with timid eyes and blonde hair, but I 
found her by no means wanting in shrewd- 
ness and common sense. She sat thinking 
for some time after I had spoken, and then 



turning to me with a brisk air of resolution, 
she broke into a remarkable statement, which 
I will condense for your benefit. 

11 ' I promised my friend that I would say 
nothing of the matter, and a promise is a 
promise/ said she. * But if 1 can really 
help her when so serious a charge is made 
against her, and when her own mouth, poor 
darling, is closed by illness, then I think I 
am absolved from my promise. I will tell 
you exactly what happened upon Monday 

" * We were returning from the Watt Street 
Mission, about a quarter to nine o'clock, 
On our way we had to pass through Hudson 
Street, which is a very quiet thoroughfare. 
There is only one lamp in it upon the left- 
hand side, and as we approached this lamp 
I saw a man coming towards us with his back 
very bent, and something like a box slung 
over one of his shoulders. He appeared to 
be deformed, for he carried his head low, 
and walked with his knees bent. We were 
passing him when he raised his face to look 
at us in the circle of light thrown by the 

lamp, and as he did so he stopped and 
screamed out in a dreadful voice, u My 
God, it's Nancy ! " Mrs. Barclay turned as 
white as death, and would have fallen down 
had the dreadful-looking creature not caught 
hold of her. I was going to call for the 
police, but she, to my surprise, spoke quite 
civilly to the fellow, 

" ' I thought you had been dead this thirty 
years, Henry,' said she, in a shaking voice. 

u 'So I have/ said he, and it was awful to 
hear the tones that he said it in. He had a 
very dark, fearsome face, and a gleam in his 
eyes that comes back to me in my dreams. 
His hair and whiskers were shot with grey, 
and his face was all crinkled and puckered 
like a withered apple, 

" 'Just walk on a little way, dear,' said Mrs, 
Barclay. *I want to have a w r ord with this 
There is nothing to be afraid of.' 



She tried to speak boldly, but she was still 

deadly pale, and could hardly get her words 

out for the trembling of her lips. 

" * I did as she asked me, and they talked 

together for a few minutes. Then she came 
down the street with her 
eyes blazing, and I saw the 
crippled wretch standing by 
the lamp-post and shaking 
his clenched fists in the air, 
as if he were mad with 
rage- She never said a word 
until we were at the door 
here, when she took me by 
the hand and begged me to 
tell no one what had hap- 
pened, * It is an old ac- 
quaintance of mine who has 
come down in the world,' 
said she. When I promised 
her that I would say noth- 
ing she kissed me, and I 
have never seen her since. 
I have told you now the 
whole truth, and if I with- 
held it from the police it is 
because I did not realize 
then the danger in which 
my dear friend stood, I 
know that it can only be to 
her advantage that every- 
thing should be known, 1 

"There was her state- 
ment, Watson, and to me, 
£y \ as you can imagine, it 

was like a light on a dark 
night Everything which 
had been, disconnected be- 

UNIVERSrfTOFtoMKftJP 1 "* t0 as " 



sume its true place, and I had a shadowy 
presentment of the whole sequence of events. 
My next step obviously was to find the man 
who had produced such a remarkable 
impression upon Mrs. Barclay. If he were 
still in Aldershot it should not be a very diffi- 
cult matter. There are not such a very great 
number of civilians, and a deformed man 
was sure to have attracted attention. I spent 
a day in the search, and by evening — this 
very evening, Watson — I had run him down. 
The man's name is Henry Wood, and he 
lives in lodgings in this same street in which 
the ladies met him. He has only been five 
days in the place. In the character of a 
registration agent I had a most interesting 
gossip with his landlady. The man is by 
trade a conjurer and performer, going round 
the canteens after nightfall, and giving a 
little entertainment at each. He carries 
some creature about with him in that box, 
about which the landlady seemed to be in 
considerable trepidation, for she had never 
seen an animal like it. He uses it in some 
of his tricks, according to her account. So 
much the woman was able to tell me, and 
also that it was a wonder the man lived, 
seeing how twisted he was, and that 
he spoke in a strange tongue some- 
times, and that for the last two nights 
she had heard him groaning and weeping in 
his bedroom. He was all right as far as 
money went, but in his deposit he had given 
her what looked like a bad florin. She 
showed it to me, Watson, and it was an 
Indian rupee. 

" So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly 
how we stand and why it is I want you. It 
is perfectly plain that after the ladies parted 
from this man he followed them at a distance, 
that he saw the quarrel between husband and 
wife through the window, that he rushed in, 
and that the creature which he carried in his 
box got loose. That is all very certain. But 
he is the only person in this world who can 
tell us exactly what happened in that room." 

" And you intend to ask him ? " 

" Most certainly — but in the presence of 
a witness." 

" And I am the witness ? " 

11 If you will be so good. If he can clear 
the matter up, well and good. If he refuses, 
we have no alternative but to apply for a 

" But how do you know he will be there 
when we return?" 

"You may be sure that I took some 
precautions. I have one of my Baker Street 
boys mounting guard over him who would 

stick to him like a burr, go where he might. 
We shall find him in Hudson Street to- 
morrow, Watson ; and meanwhile I should be 
the criminal myself if I kept you out of 
bed any longer." 

It was midday when we found ourselves at 
the scene of the tragedy, and, under my com- 
panion's guidance, we made our way at once 
to Hudson Street In spite of his capacity 
for concealing his emotions I could easily 
see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed 
excitement, while I was myself tingling with 
that half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure 
which I invariably experienced when I as- 
sociated myself with him in his investi- 

" This is the street," said he, as he turned 
into a short thoroughfare lined with plain 
two-storied brick houses — "Ah ! here is 
Simpson to report." 

" He's in all right, Mr. Holmes," cried a 
small street Arab, running up to us. 

" Good, Simpson ! " said Holmes, patting 
him on the head. "Come along, Watson. 
This is the house." He sent in his card 
with a message that he had come on im- 
portant business, and a moment later we 
were face to face with the man whom we had 
come to see. In spite of the warm weather 
he was crouching over a fire, and the little 
room was like an oven. The man sat all 
twisted and huddled in his chair in a way 
which gave an indescribable impression of 
deformity, but the face which he turned 
towards us, though worn and swarthy, must 
at some time have been remarkable for its 
beauty. He looked suspiciously at us now 
out of yellow-shot bilious eyes, and, without 
speaking or rising, he waved towards two 

" Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I 
believe ? " said Holmes, affably. " I've come 
over this little matter of Colonel Barclay's 

" What should I know about that ? " 

" That's what I wanted to ascertain. You 
know, I suppose, that unless the matter is 
cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is an old friend 
of yours, will in all probability be tried for 
murder ? " 

The man gave a violent start. 

" I don't know who you are," he cried, 
"nor how you come to know what you do 
know ; but will you swear that this is true 
that you tell me ? " 

" Why, they are only waiting for her to 
come to her senses to arrest her." 

" My God ! Are you in the police your- 







" What business is it of yours, then ? " 

(£ It's every man's business to see justice 

H You can take my word that she is 

:£ Then you are guilty ? ,J 

''No, I am not" 

" Who killed Colonel James Barclay, 

" It was a just Providence that killed him. 
But, mind you this, that if I had knocked his 
brains out, as it was in my heart to do, he 
would have had no more than his due from 
my hands. If his own guilty conscience had 
not struck him down, it is likely enough that 
I might have had his blood upon my soul 
You want me to tell the story. Well, I don't 
know why I shouldn't, for there's no cause 
for me to be ashamed of it 

"It was in this way, sir. You see me now 
with my back like a camel and my ribs all 
awry, but there was a time when Corporal 
Henry Wood was the smartest man in the 
1 17th Foot We were in India then, in can- 
tonments, at a place we'll call Bhurtee. 
Barclay, who died the other day, was sergeant 
in the same company as myself, and the belle 
of the regiment — aye, and the finest girl that 
ever had the breath of life between her lips — 
was Nancy Devoy, the daughter of the 
colour-sergeant. There were two men who 

loved her, and one whom she loved ; and 
youl! smile when you look at this poor thing 
huddled before the fire, and hear me say that 
it was for my good looks that she loved me. 

u Well, though I had her heart, her father 
was set upon her marrying Barclay. I was a 
harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he had had 
an education, and was already marked for the 
sword belt But the girl held true to me, 
and it seemed that I would have had her, 
when the Mutiny broke out, and all Hell was 
loose in the country, 

"We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regi- 
ment of us with half a battery of artillery, a 
company of Sikhs, and a lot of civilians and 
women-folk. There were ten thousand rebels 
round us, and they were as keen as a set of 
terriers round a rat-cage. About the second 
week of it our water gave out, and it was a 
question whether we could communicate with 
General NeilFs column, which was moving 
up country, It was our only chance, for we 
could not hope to fight our way out with 
all the women and children, so I volun- 
teered to go out and warn General 
Neill of our danger, My offer was accepted, 
and I talked it over with Sergeant Barclay, 
who was supposed to know the ground 
better than any other man, and who drew 
up a route by which I might get through 
the rebel lin-ss. At ten. o'clock the same 

night jirw^^oraifm^tr 1 ^ There 



were a thousand 
lives to save, but 
it was of only one 
that I was think- 
ing when I dropped 
over the wall that 

i( My way ran 
down a dried-up 
watercourse which 
we hoped would 
screen me from 
the enemy's sen- 
tries, but as I 
crept round the 
corner of it I 
walked right into 
six of them, who 
were crouching 
down in the dark 
waiting for me. 
In an instant I 
was stunned with 
a blow, and bound 
hand and foot 
But the real blow 
was to my heart 
and not to my 
head, for as I came to and listened to as 
much as I could understand of their talk, I 
heard enough to tell me that my comrade, 
the very man who had arranged the way that 
I was to take, had betrayed me by means of 
a native servant into the hands of the enemy. 

"Well, there's no need for me to dwell on 
that part of it. You know now what James 
Barclay was capable of, Bhurtee was relieved 
by Neill next day, but the rebels took me 
away with them in their retreat, and it was 
many a long year before ever I saw a white 
face again. I was tortured, and tried to get 
away, and was captured and tortured again. 
You can see for yourselves the state in which 
I was left- Some of them that fled into 
Nepaul took me with them, and then after- 
wards I was up past Darjeeling. The hill- 
folk up there murdered the rebels who had 
me, and I became their slave for a time 
until I escaped, but instead of going south 
I had to go north, until I found myself 
among the Afghans* There I wandered 
about for many a year, and at last came back 
to the Punjab, where I lived mostly among 
the natives, and picked up a living by the 
conjuring tricks that I had learned. What 
use was it for me, a wretched cripple, to go 
back to England, or to make myself known 
to my old comrades? Even my wish for 
revenge would not make me do that I had 


rather that Nancy and my old pals should 
think of Harry Wood as having died with a 
straight back, than see him living and 
crawling w T ith a stick like a chimpanzee. 
They never doubted that I was dead, and I 
meant that they never should. I heard that 
Barclay had married Nancy, and that he was 
rising rapidly in the regiment, but even that 
did not make me speak. 

u But when one gets old, one has a longing 
for home. For years I've been dreaming of 
the bright green fields and the hedges of 
England. At last I determined to see them 
before I died. I saved enough to bring me 
across, and then I came here where the 
soldiers are, for I know their ways, and how 
to amuse them, and so earn enough to keep 

" Your narrative is most interesting," said 
Sherlock Holmes. li I have already heard 
of your meeting with Mrs. Barclay and your 
mutual recognition. You then, as I under- 
stand, followed her home and saw through 
the window an altercation between her 
husband and her, in which she doubtless cast 
his conduct to you in his teeth. Your own 
feelings overcame you and you ran across the 
lawn and broke in upon them." 

" I did, sir, and at the sight of me he 

Sore, fe^WS^^IisTid^n 

3 2 


the fender. But he was dead before he fell. I 
read death on his face as plain as I can read 
that text over the fire. The bare sight of me 
was like a bullet through his guilty heart/' 

" And then ?*' 

"Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the 
key of the door from her hand, intending to 
unlock it and get help. But as I was doing 
it it seemed to me better to leave it alone 
and get away, for the thing might look black 
against me 3 and any way my secret would he 
out if I were 
taken. In my 
haste I thrust the 
key into my 
pocket, and drop- 
ped my stick 
while I was chas- 
ing Teddy, who 
had run up the 
curtain. When I 
got him into his 
box, from which 
he had slipped, 
I was off as fast 
as I could run." 

asked Holmes. 

The man leaned 
over and pulled 
up the front of a 
kind of hutch in 
the corner. In an 
instant out there 
slipped a beauti- 
ful red dish -brown 
creature, thin and 
lithe,, with the 
legs of a stoat, a 
long thin nose, 
and a pair of the 
finest red eyes that 
ever I saw in an 
animals head. 

" It's a mongoose ! " I cried. 

"Well, some call them that, and some call 
them ichneumon/' said the man. "Snake 
catcher is what I call them, and Teddy is 
amazing quick on cobras, I have one here 
without the fangs, and Teddy catches it every 
night to please the folk in the canteen. Any 
other point, sir ? " 

11 Well, we may have to apply to you again 
if Mrs. Barclay should prove to be in serious 

"In that case, of course, Td come forward." 

" But if not, there is no object in raking up 

Digitized by Gi 


this scandal against a dead man, foully as he 
has acted. You have, at least, the satisfac- 
tion of knowing that for thirty years of his 
life his conscience bitterly reproached him for 
this wicked deed, Ah, there goes Major 
Murphy on the other side of the street. 
Good-bye, Wood ; I want to iearn if any^ 
thing has happened since yesterday, w 

We were in time to overtake the Major 
before he reached the corner, 

u Ah, Holmes/' he said, "I suppose 

you have heard 
that all this 
fuss has come to 
nothing ? * 

"What, then?" 
"The inquest 
is just over. The 
medical evidence 
showed conclu- 
sively that death 
was due to apo- 
plexy. You see, 
it was quite a 
simple case after 

" Oh, remark- 
ably superficial," 
said Holmes, smil- 
ing. "Come, 
Watson, I don't 
think we shall be 
wanted in Alder- 
shot any more," 

" There's one 
thing," said I, as 
we walked down 
to the station, "if 
the husband's 
name was James, 
c? and the other 

was Henry, what 
was this talk 
about David?" 
H That one word, my dear Watson, should 
have told me the whole story had I been the 
ideal reason er which you are so fond of 
depicting. It was evidently a term of re- 

n Of reproach?' 3 

" Yes, David strayed a little occasionally, 
you know, and on one occasion in the same 
direction as Sergeant James Barclay, You 
remember the small affair of Uriah and 
Bathsheba, My Biblical knowledge is a trifle 
rusty, I fear, but you will find the story in 
the first or second of Samuel" 



THE dog is a strange and mysterious creature, and 
what he /r, innately, is a problem of life. To 
consider him a mechanical organism on four legs 
intended to carry sticks and provide a benevolent 
Government with an annual seven-and-sixpence, is 
the mooning of the common fool ; of the fool, more- 
over , who never knew a 
dog to speak to. To talk 
of instinct is but to 
announce oneself the 
Jg Vj Jjr empty creature of a 
•^ formula. The fact 

that he is derived 
{ages back) from 
the w T olf increases, 
if possible, his mys 
tery ; for every bad 
quality which the 
domestic dog has ^ff\ 
not the wolf has, ^ 

with no compensating virtue, except 
that you needn't buy a license 
to keep him ; notwithstanding 
which recommendation most 
people prefer to keep a dog for 
ordinary purposes. That the 
dog did not arrive at his 




Original from 



present moral state at any ex- 
tremely remote age is evident 
from the popular fables and pro- 
verbs relating to him, for therein 
he always appears a mean, wolfish 
beast, and a fool to boot As 
witness the Dog in the 
Manger, the Dog with a 
Shadow, the Dog with 
an 111 Name, and the 
rest of them. So that 
reformation of the dog has 
come about in comparatively 
recent times, and it is a testimony 
to his innate worth that constant 
association with man since his 
conversion has not corrupted him, 
Tom, the large grey wolf here at 
the Zoo, is, I am almost convinced, 
somewhat in a way of reformation 
himself. If he feels hungry, you 

may see him approach the bars and wag his tail ; this on the 

uff-chance of your having a bit of raw beef about you. But he 

tom* can't smile with anything like cordiality ; no wolf can, His 

tail looks amiable enough, but he conducts business with the opposite end, which is not so 

reassuring to look at — which, in fact, contradicts the tail flatly. As he stands thus, end on, 

you would scarcely guess the number of pounds of solid meat 
that Tom lias put away within a couple of days. He has a 
lanky, thin, edge-forward sort of aspect, as though he were 
cut out of a deal board with a saw, and only intended to be 
looked at broadside on, like a piece of stage scenery, Tom 
won't show his teeth quite so readily as Coolie, the Indian 
wolf, next door. You cannot make a captive wolf show his 
teeth by the ordinary means of waving a hat or an arm — 
he disregards this sort of 
thing entirely, You must 
catch him unawares, and 
startle him by a sudden 
rush towards the bars with 
your head down, This will 
give you an 
a ppearance 
of mental 
derangement ; 
but j properly 
executed, it will 
startle the wolf. 
You will betray Tom into 
a temporary exhibition of 
ferocity, but he will recover 
instantly, and pretend that he only 
opened his mouth to yawn. When 
he has finished his yawn he will 
glance casually and serenely down 
the cages, with a contemptuous air of never having seen you 
at all, and of being quite unaware that such a person as your 
self was ever born. This treatment is very galling, coming as it . 
does from a wolf whom even its proprietors are fain to label , 






} but you shouldn't have laid yourself cpen to it, to begin with. The gentleman 
who sent Tom here can handle him as much as he pleases, and treat him precisely as one 
would treat an ordinary house-dog, but Tom has a persuasive way of inducing other people not 

to try the game 
on their own ac- 
count — not to try 
it more than 
once, at any rate. 
He will recog- 
nise his old 
master joyfully 
after a year or 
two's absence, 
but I have not 
yet entered upon patting 
terms with Tom myself ; because 
I know that lathy appearance of limb 
to be a deception and a snare. But> at 
least, Tom is half reformed, and if he lives 
another few hundred years will probably develop 
in the regular way into a dog. 

Coolies next door, is a ruffian, and makes no 
shame of it. He would like a piece out of you, 
and doesn't care if you know it. If anything, he 
would prefer two pieces. Failing that, he would 
like a piece of Tom ; or of North, the keeper ; or 

rfj+ ^ 


of Bob, the Eskimo dog ; or 
of his own grandmother, if he 
could get it. There's no weak 
sentiment about Coolie. The 
only thing that would dissuade 
him from eating a relation would 
be the event of the relation first 
eating him. I don't altogether 
like Coolie; he is not the sort 
of chap that anybody would fall 
in love with at first sight He 
won't meet your eye so long as 
he is out in the cage. Try to fix 
him for a moment; try to annoy 
him, in fact. He will evade your 
eye in the shiftiest fashion, keep- 
ing you in sight, however, with 
the corner of his own, for fear 
of accidents, Presently, at the 
end of his patience, he will re- 
treat into his lair and give you a 
straight look at last ; one which 
will convince you at once of 
the multifarious advantages of 

conducting these 
little experiments 
from this side of 
the bars. 

Rut even Coolie 
has his softer mo- 
ments, when he will 
rub against the bars 
to be patted. I like 
to pat Coolie my- 
self, and I consider 

Original from 



my method of patting him to be in many respects the 
best. When I see Coolie against the bars and looking 
amiable (for Coolie), and I feel disposed to pat him, I 
call North, and authorize him to pat Coolie on my 
behalf. In this way I have become quite friendly with 
Coolie, who is as affable under my pats as if I were his 
keeper. I shall always pat Coolie like this ; I am able 
to devote more attention to the general superintendence 
of the proceedings when I have an assistant to attend 
to the manual detail. Sometimes Sutton helps me pat 
the lions in the same way* It requires a little nerve, 
of course, but I am always perfectly cook 

Bob, the Eskimo dog, lives in the next cage to 
Coolie, and in the next cage still there are a pair of 
prairie wolves, whose improvement on the com- 
mon wolf lies only in externals, To look at, 
they seem a kind of collie, but with a finer 
model of head than any collie-breeder can pro- 
duce. Except in appearance, they are far back 
in the blackest ages of wolfdom, One of them 
—Charlie — has an offensive habit of sitting up on 
the coping-pier from which the cage division-bars 
spring, because that is regarded as a sort of feat 

*4 a ^^"^v 


of gymnastics, impossible to the 

other wolves, since they are too 

big. If you particularly want him 

to perform, for your amusement, he 

won't do this trick, small as it is ; 

but when you are not looking he 

persists in it^ by way of annoying 

the neighbours who can't perform 

it Perhaps, after all, the Dog in 

the Manger wasn't a dog at all, but toOD WOLK OK bA1J COLMl 

a prairie wolf. The man who called him a dog didn't examine him closely enough ; few 

people stay long to examine a loose wolf Like a dog as the prairie wolf is — and he tries 

his utmost to maintain this respectable appearance — his drooped tail, his snarling mouth, 

and his small eyes, expose the pretence. He is attempting his promotion in the wrong 

way — merely by imitating the uniform of the superior rank* 

There can be no reasonable doubt that the wolf wants to be a dog if he can* He quite 

understands his rascally inferiority, but will never give up his social ambition, especially 

when so many visitors encourage his vanity, time after time, 
by mistaking him for a 
dog. There arc times 
when such a mistake is 
na tu ra 1 — almost pard on- 
able. On a hot day, for 
instance, a wolf, to cool 
his mouth, will muster up 
a most commodious smile 
—present an open coun- 
tenance, in fact — strik- 
ingly like that of an ami- 
able retriever out for a run. 
■ „„,„,,.. But the wolf is too sad a 






blackguard to redeem himself 
by an occasional smile; nothing 
but orderly centuries of evolu- 
tion will be of much use to 
him, and his present parvenu 
attempts to assume a position in 
life to which he was not born 
make him look worse than ever. 
He betrays himself — like a 
parvenu — by small and uncon- 
scious habits. Give a well-bred 
dog a biscuit, and he will munch it with gentlemanly relish and keep a polite welcome ready 
for another, A wolf, being always hungry enough to eat anything, will take it, but in an 
indifferent, perfunctory, disdainful fashion, not vouchsafing the courtesy of concealing his 

contempt for your present; while animal 
food drives him to the opposite extreme, 
The wolf can't even sleep like a dog. 
Bob, the Eskimo (who is a gentleman 
among dogs T with low neighbours whose 
manners he despises), sleeps as an honest 
dog always does sleep ; flung upon the 
ground with his legs, head, and tail 
spread about fearlessly, and his mind as 
conscious of rectitude as if he could tell 
yen so in Latin. Tom or Coolie can't 
sleep like that. The wolf tries to hide 
distrust. under himself He remembers his many 

crimes, even in sleep, and can't trust his legs or his tail or anything else in sight He hides 
his tail between his legs, and resorts to the most complicated and twisty devices for arranging 
his legs to hide each other. He gets underneath himself, covers himself over him, and tucks 
in the corners ; and even then his sleep is restless. I don't think Red Riding Hood's grand- 
mother has ever been 
properly digested. 

Bob, the Eskimo dog, 
is a fine fellow, as 
friendly as any dog you 
may name, except to 
wolves. He would be 
glad to visit the wolvas 
next door, and take 
their machinery to 
pieces hastily with his 
teeth, and the wolves so heartily reciprocate the sentiment that a sheet-iron memorial of the 
fact has been erected between the cages. There is another dog called Bob a little further 
along — the Dingo dog. He is a cunning-looking fellow, of more civilized condition than 
the wolves, but sharing with them their chief characteristic of eternal hunger. The Dingo 
dog is the only animal that can beat the cat's collection of nine lives ; he is calculated to 
possess twenty-seven. If you give a wild Dingo a single bang on the head he will lie down 

__, __, , _ as if killed at once, shamming : 

lying doggoh, in fact But you 
may beat him out flat and dissect 
him, and as soon as your back is 
turned he will gather together his 
outlying fragments, blow himself 
into shape, and walk home. He 
doesn't mind a little accident of 
that sort. 

Tn this row of cages, too, arc 
jackals — black- backed jackals, 





ordinary jackals, and extraordinary jackals, as well as foxes , A jackal is recognisable at once 
— a mean -looking fox of the wrong colour. The prettiest jackal is the black-backed, but still 

he is a jackal and nothing better ; as unmistakable as 
though he went about singing, " My name it is Jackal," 
after the Coal Hole bard. It is odd to observe how, in a 
jackal the influence of ages of habit remains. Never hunt- 
ing for himself and always waiting for the broken leavings 
of some more powerful hunter, he cannot, even now in his 
cage, altogether believe that his dinner is intended, in the 
first place, entirely for himself. So, when North pokes it 

between the bars he hesitates tor a 
moment, and looks round for the lion. 
It is sad life wherein one douuts 
ownership in one's own dinner, 

A fox must be an un- 
pleasant sort of person to 
live with, for other reasons 
beside the smell. A fox's 
conversation consists 
chiefly of snarls. Put 
two foxes together, and 
they will at once begin to 

,u mi- 


invent occasions for snarling at one another. 

They don't quarrel outright, probably from 

k xc of the consequences. The favourite 

device of one of the Indian desert foxes 

here is of a Donnybrookian flavour* His 

mate has a way of amusing herself with a 

little circus — just trotting round the floor in 

a ring. He watches her at this amusement, 

and when a snarl seems desirable* he dismounts 

from his per^i and lays his tail just across her 

track, and waits for her to trample on it ; then he 

snarls and snaps at her face, and she snarls and 

snaps at his. This being accomplished, he returns, 

perfectly satisfied, to his roost, to rest and doze till 

his system requires refreshing with another snarl, A 

properly-executed; mut lirJ snarl, almost approaching 






a bite, will last him for ten 
minutes or a quarter of an hour. 
These foxes — all of them — 
have a very irritating cause of 
had temper to contend with 
the existence of a fine pair 
of Chinese geese a few 
yards beyond the obstruc- 
tive bars. The ordinary 
fox hag arrived at a stoical 
attitude of indifference to 
the Chinese goose. He 
affects to believe that he 
is uneatable. The Chinese 
goose wears a black stripe 
behind his neck, rather sug- 
gestive of a pigtail ; this the 
fox points out to his friends 
as evidence of uneatability, 
having learned the consola- 
tion from a relative who once 
had a fancy for grapes. 
As for the wolf, the 
cause of man's hatred 
for him lies in the fact 
that a wolf nursed Romulus 
and Remus. If this malevolent 
creature had left them as they were, they would have been drowned in the 
Tiber Thus Romulus would never have built Rome, and there would have 
been no Caesar, no Dn Smith's Smaller Roman History, no Principia Latina, 
and untold misery would have been spared many generations of long-suffer- 
ing schoolboys. No wonder that the wolf is held in horror and detesta- 
tion by all nations, and is exterminated mercilessly wherever found. Years 
of bitter tears, bitter Caesar, bitter Accidence, bitter Smith's Smaller, 
and bitterest swish have left their scar upon the human soul, and 
roused up an hereditary and traditional hatred of the beast, but 
for whose malignant interference All Gaul would never have been 
divided in Three Parts ; a hatred only second in its wild intensity 
to that of the snake who beguiled Eve* Consequently the wolf 
for ever wears his tail between his legs, as does every member 
of the canine kind unbeloved by man, which, by-the-bye, is a notice- 
able thing in itself, but obvious to everybody 
who shall compare those hi this row. 

The most wonderful dog story on record, by 
the way, is that of Katmir, the dog who was 
shut up with the Seven Sleepers, This faith- 
ful creature kept ceaseless watch over his 
masters without eating, drinking, or sleep- 
ing, for the trying period of 309 years. 
It is the most wonderful instance 
of a dog's fidelity I ever 
across, and an excel- 
lent specimen of 
the dog story 
in several 
of facts, it is 
not generally 





known that some day a great wolf is to arise in the 
North (according to Scandinavian prophecy) and swallow 
the sun and moon. One is usually a little inclined to 
distrust this statement until he has seen a wolf at work 
on an ordinary meal; never after. 
Indeed, one has only to see Coolie 

louping swiftly to and fro, and Tom bouncing against his back door when feeding- 
time approaches, to feel that it wouldn't be altogether safe to leave the moon loose 
hereabout with nobody to take care of it. 

by Google 

Original from 

A Bottle of Madeira. 

By Angelo Lewis. 

OU have an uncommonly 
cosy den here, Armstrong/' 
said my friend Macpherson, 
as he turned his chair to 
the fire. "And this is a 
capital weed. Just one thing 
more, and our Elysium would be complete." 

" And what may that be ? " I inquired. 

" A bottle of that wonderful old Madeira 
your Pater used to bring out on high days 
and holidays. But I suppose that's all gone 
long since." 

"Not quite, I fancy. I brought the re- 
mainder of the governors wine with me 
when I came here, and I'm pretty sure there 
was a dozen or so of the old Madeira. I 
can't say whereabouts in the cellar it lies, but 
if you'll come down and hold a candle for 
me, I'll see if I can lay my hand upon a 

" Agreed, nem. con. I'd hold a candle to 
a much blacker personage than yourself, upon 
such an inducement." 

The time was about eight o'clock on a 
December evening. The place, my private 
sitting-room on the first floor of the Whittle- 
bury Bank, of which I had been appointed 
manager some two years previously. Dick 
Macpherson, my visitor, was an old school- 
fellow, who had just completed a three years' 
term of service as surgeon on H.M.S. Orion y 
and pending his appointment to another ship, 
had come down to spend a week or two with 
me at Whittlebury. Dick was a character in 
his way. He was accustomed to describe 
himself as a thoroughbred mongrel : half 
Scotch, half Irish; half sailor, half surgeon. 
Though still young, being barely thirty, he 
was not only exceptionally skilful in his own 
profession, but had a useful amateur know- 
ledge of several others. He was a clever 
mechanic, and his knowledge of chemistry, 
like Sam Weller's of London, was " extensive 
and peculiar." His special hobby, however, 
was electricity, which he maintained to be 
not only the light and the power but the 
medicine of the future, and he was never so 
happy as when devising new uses for it He 
had been greatly disgusted, on his arrival, to 

Vol. vL-6. 

find that the bank was unprovided with 
electric bells, and gave me no peace until I 
consented to let him supply the deficiency. 
In vain I represented to him that electricity 
was an unknown force in Whittlebury. He 
retorted that in such case the bank, as 
representing finance, thrift, and other com- 
mercial virtues, was the more bound to set 
an example in the right direction ; and 
already, in one corner of my sitting-room, lay 
a collection of bells, batteries, wires and 
pushes, to be used in the execution of the 

The building, I may here state, had not 
been originally erected for a bank, but was 
an old-fashioned private house, which had 
been adapted to that purpose. The base- 
ment consisted of four roomy vaults, ori- 
ginally intended as cellars. Three of them, 
indeed, were still used for that purpose : one 
for coals, one for my private store of wine, 
and one as a receptacle for lumber; while 
the fourth had been converted into a " strong 
room." The walls and floor of the " strong 
room " were lined with concrete ; the arch 
of the vault cased with boiler plates, and the 
wooden door replaced by a double door of 
wrought iron, secured by combination locks. 
Within stood a couple of strong safes — one 
large, one small — of the most approved con- 
struction. The only daylight admitted to 
the vault found its way through four circular 
pieces of thick glass, each six inches in 
diameter, let into the flooring of the room 
above (my private office), and the only access 
to the basement, including the strong room, 
was by spiral iron stairs leading from the 
same room. 

The ground floor consisted of two rooms 
only, the larger being the public office of the 
bank, the other my private office, above 
mentioned. The latter was a small room at 
the rear of the building, and had originally 
been a kitchen. When, however, the house 
was adapted to its present purpose, the 
kitchen had been transferred to the topmost 
floor, where also were the apartments of the 
caretaker — a sturdy Irishman, named O'Grady 
— and his wife. There were three rooms on 
the intermediate floor ; two being bedrooms, 



and the third the 
room in which we 
were seated on the 
evening of my 

I lighted a 
candle, and we 
made our way 
downstairs to the 
cellar* After some 
little search, we 
came upon a bin 
which I found to 
contain the last 
survivors of the 
famous Madeira. 
I took out a 
bottle, and was 
just closing the 
cellar door, when 
a strange sound 
struck my ear. 
First came two 
or throe strokes, 
as of a hammer, 
but dull, as if the 
striking implement 
was muffled in 
some way ; then 
the lt scrunch " of 
a chisel ; and 
finally a dropping 

sound, as of falling mortar. With a 
warning glance at Macpherson, I opened 
the door of the strong room adjoining, and 
silently stepped inside. The sounds were here 
more distinctly audible ; and we could fix 
with tolerable certainty the spot from which 
they proceeded, which was the lower part of 
the left-hand wall 

Closing the door, 1 led the way up the 
Spiral stairs into my private office. "What 
do you make of that, Mac ? " I said, as I 
placed the bottle on the table. 

" Judging by the sound, I should say 
someone was chipping a hole through the 
wall, presumably to rob the bank," replied 

" That is precisely my own impression. 
What a stroke of luck that you should have 
chanced to ask for that bottle of Madeira. 
Well, forewarned is forearmed ; we shall be 
ready for them. I'll just go and get my 
revolver, and then 111 mount guard, while 
you go and fetch the police." 

Macpherson looked at me thoughtfully, 
" Excuse me, old man, hut wouldn't that be 
a little bit premature ? In the first place, it 


is just possible 
that the sound 
we have heard is 
capable of some 
innocent interpre- 
tation, and we may 
get laughed at for 
raising a false 
alarm. In the 
second place, if 
our underground 
friend is a burglar, 
wouldn't it be as 
well to let him 
make the case a 
little clearer 
against himself ? 
I don't know what 
thickness of wall 
he has to tackle, 
but judging by the 
look of the 
material, and the 
very small quantity 
of stuff that seems 
to fall after each 
blow, I should 
fancy he had still 
a longish job be- 
fore him." 

" That's true 
enough. That 
wall is eighteen 
inches thick, and of the toughest concrete 
made. Of course, we don't know how 
long the gentleman on the other side has 
been pegging away at it; but judging 
from the sound, he has a good deal to do 

"Then we need not decide anything in a 
hurry. Pull that cork, Geoff, and we'll see 
if we can't devise some sort of trap for him. 
There's nothing like a glass of good wine to 
help the imagination." 

I drew the cork, and fetched a glass from 
the cupboard. " Help yourself, Dick, but 
you must excuse my joining you. Nothing 
stronger than water will pass my lips till this 
matter is over." 

" Every man to his taste," replied Dick, 
holding the wine critically between himself 
and the light, then sipping it with reverential 
gusto. " I work best on this sort of thing. 
Now, to return to the business in hand. I 
would much rather capture this gentleman, if 
we can, without calling in the police till we 
are ready to hand him over to them." 

" So would Tj if I were under no personal 

res P<WlVfelTY^ iffiflfltotF P lans failed 



and the bank was robbed ! A pretty mess I 
should be in." 

" No doubt you would* And if, therefore, 
at any moment you cease to have perfect 
confidence in out defensive arrangements, by 
all means call in the police at once. But I 
don't think you will need them. You agree 
with me that tjiere is no fear of an entrance 
being effected to-night?" 

" Not the slightest, I should say. It is 
mere speculation, of course, but I should 
think the burglar has a full week's work 
before him." 

"Good Then let us see, in the first 
place, whether we can fix any probable time 
for the final attack. Is the bank particularly 
rich just now ? " 

"On the contrary, just now the cash in 
hand is lower than usual. But next Monday 
is quarter-day, and for some days after that 
we shall have an exceptionally large amount 
in hand, as a number of rents and other 

accounts are paid in about that time." 

" Then if, as we may assume, our under- 
ground friend knows his business, he will 

endeavour to get in about a week hence. By 

the way, who is your neighbour on that side?" 
" A French gentleman, the Count de la 

Roche. But, good heavens ! the Count can't 

have anything to do with it. Why, he has 

five hundred pounds in the bank 

at this moment." 

"That sounds respectable, but 

it is not conclusive, I am glad 

to hear it, though, for in that 

case we are pretty sure to have 

warning of the attack* When 

the Count draws out his five 

hundred pounds we may reckon 

that he has got pretty nearly 

through the wall." 
" I don't quite follow your 


li It Is clear enough. It is not 

worth any man's while to steal 

his own money; and if he made 

the attempt, and failed, he might 

have trouble in getting it after- 
wards. Ergo y if the Count is 

the culprit, he will draw it out 

just before the attempt is made." 
"But why should he have 

deposited it at all ? " 

44 Doubtless, to disarm sus- 
picion. But we need not take it 

for granted that the Count is the 

man. It may be some other 

inmate of his household. What 

sort of a man is the Count ? " 

" A thorough Frenchman, dark, short, and 
stout, with a pinched-in waist, and small 
hands and feet. Very polite and compli- 
mentary, Smokes a very expensive brand of 
cigars, w T hich are got down from London on 
purpose for him. Dresses smartly, and is 
never without a flower in his button-hole," 

" How long has he been here ? n 

"About three months, as near as I can 
recollect Yes, he opened his account with 
us on the first of October, and he had then 
been in the town some three or four days. 
He told me that he desired to open a draw- 
ing account as a temporary accommodation, 
and that he should always keep a good 
balance. Under such circumstances I 
accepted him without hesitation." 

4 * And what family has he ? " 

" His household consists of his wife, a 
good-looking, rather over-dressed woman, 
who speaks no English, and a foreign servant, 
called Antoine* An old woman belonging 
to the town assists in the housework, but she 
does not sleep in the house. Antoine is 
cook, butler, and general factotum." 

11 What is Antoine like ? * 

l( I should take him to be a native of the 
South of France, He is very dark, with 
crisp black hair, coming low down over his 
forehead, and thick red ears, with gold rings 

umYitBaJiWL'Ui" MiLniijflpi 



in them. Smells of garlic, and smokes 
cigarettes all day long/* 

"A very good fancy portrait of a French 
format But one can't go much by descrip- 
tion* We shall know Antoine better by-and- 
by, no doubt In the meantime, the first 
thing to do is to make sure that nobody 
effects an entry without our knowledge/* 

" How do you propose to prevent it ? " 

"That is an easy matter. I shall rig up 
an electric alarm across the piece of wall they 
are working on. The plant provided for our 
bull-hanging arrangements will be just the 
thing* If you will lend me a hand, I will 
have it fixed in no time," 

We set to work accordingly. Our first 
task was to fix two bells, one in my private 
office and the other in my bedroom, and to 
carry wires from them to the strong room. 
So far, we were able to work at our ease, and 
to converse when necessary. Now, however, 
we had to deal with the very wall behind 
which the concealed workman was engaged 
in his felonious tasL Still, with unfailing 
regularity, came, 
first, the tap, tap 
of the mallet, then 
the scrunch of the 
chisel, and the fall 
of the displaced 
material. As we 
could hear him so 
plainly, it was con- 
ceivable that he 
might hear us also, 
and we therefore 
had to work in 
absolute silence, 1 
held the candle 
while Macp h er so n 
attached with seal- 
ing-wax a number 
of silk threads, 
crossing the wall in 
various d i r ec t \ ons, 
and connected in 
some way, which I 
was not electrician 
enough to appre- 
ciate, with the wires 
of the bells. 

After half an hour 
of this work, Mac- 
pherson gave me a 
nod of satisfaction, 
Indicating that all 
was complete ; and 
we returned to the 
office above. 

" Thank goodness, that's over ! IP I said. 
" Now, will you kindly explain how it 
works ? I thought silk was a non-conductor," 

"So it is," he replied, "The principle is 
just this. No part of that wall can be dis- 
placed without making a pull upon one or 
other of those threads* The moment that 
happens, the circuit is completed mechanically 
and the bell rings. It's not easy to explain, 
save on the spotj but 111 guarantee that it 
works all right. By Jove, it is half-past 
twelve, 111 have just one more glass of the 
Madeira, and then to bed, to think out my 
plan for catching the thieves," 

We retired to rest, but I for my part could 
not sleep. At half-past two I got up, and 
partially dressing myself, stole downstairs and 
paid a visit of inspection to the strong room. 
All was quiet, the midnight excavator having 
apparently suspended his labours for the 
night. Thus satisfied that there was no 
immediate danger, I returned to my bed, and 
slept soundly till daylight. 

Macp hers on met 
me at the breakfast 
table with a trium- 
phant air. "My 
plan is complete," 
he said. " Electri- 
city will tell us when 
our thieves break 
through the wall, 
and chemistry shall 
capture them for 
us. Did you ever 
hear of the Gratia 
del Cane ? w 

"The name 
sounds familiar. 
Somewhere in Italv, 
isn't it?" 

"The Grotia del 
Cane is a cavern 
near Naples, the 
soil of which 
generates carbon 
dioxide, commonly 
called carbonic acicl 
gas. This gas, 
being heavier than 
air, does not dis- 
perse, but lies at 
the bottom of the 
cave, to a depth 
of a couple of feet 
or so. If you send 
'Ha dog into- the 
J|ICHKMrt4 he becomes 



asphyxiated. A man can walk about upright 
without danger, but if he were to kneel down 
or stoop below the level of the gas, he would 
be asphyxiated in like manner." 

" Very interesting from a scientific point of 
view. But I don't see the connection with 

" Just this ; I propose to turn your strong 
room into an artificial Grotta del Cane" 

" Much obliged to you, I'm sure. And 
suffocate our chief cashier, or myself, the 
first time we go into the room ! " 

" Not at all. The gas will not be generated 
till the thieves are actually in the strong room. 
To operate upon the safes, they must of 
necessity work at a low level. The gas will 
rise by degrees, as the bottom of the cellar 
fills. Their only warning will be a slight 
difficulty in breathing, which (if they notice 
it) they will put down to the closeness of the 
vault. A little later they will find they can't 
breathe at all ; but by that time it will be too 
late, and they will fall insensible." 

" Good heavens ! you would not kill 

" No ; my intentions are not quite so 
bloodthirsty as that. We shall lug them out, 
and bring them to life again by one or other 
of the artificial respiration processes. First, 
however, we shall call in a policeman or two 
to look after them during convalescence." 

" And where is the gas to come from ? " 

"That's very plain sailing; I shall generate 
it when wanted, pro re natd, as we doctors 
say. In the first place, I shall cover the floor 
of the strong room, to a depth of two or three 
inches, with a mixture of sawdust and ordinary 
washing soda, which is a coarse form of 
sodium bicarbonate. I suppose you can 
get me half a hundredweight without any 

" I daresay I could, but it is a queer order 
for a bachelor to give. My oilman will think 
I am going to do my own washing." 

" Never mind what your oilman thinks ! 
Then I shall want half a gallon or so of rough 
sulphuric acid, commonly known as oil of 
vitriol. Lastly, an empty beer or wine cask 
to hold the diluted acid, and a few yards of 
soft metal tubing, such as gasfitters use. This 
tubing, first punctured freely with holes, will 
be embedded in the soda and connected 
with the barrel. At the right moment we 
turn on the diluted acid, and the strong room 
will be half full of carbonic acid gas in ten 

"But if you mix an acid and an alkali, 
won't there be a warning fizz ? " 

"Very little. The sound you hear on 

mixing a seidlitz powder is mainly caused by 
the small area within which the effervescence 
is confined. In an open space, Hke the floor 
of a cellar, it will be barely perceptible, and 
I shall further diminish it by sifting fine 
earth all over the soda, which will make all 
look ship-shape, while it won't interfere in the 
least with the chemical process. The saw- 
dust mixed with the soda is to prevent the 
gas being generated too rapidly." 

"You seem to have worked out your 
scheme pretty minutely." 

" I have, to the smallest detail. I laid 
awake half the night thinking it out. The 
only risky element will be getting the rascal 
(or rascals) out of the strong room afterwards. 
Carbon dioxide is no respecter of persons, 
and will knock us over as readily as a bank 
burglar. However, by using due caution, 
and holding our breaths while we have to 
stoop, we may venture in far enough to slip 
a cord round the body of each fellow, and 
then we can drag him out from a safe 

I was carried away by Macpherson's en- 
thusiasm, and after a little further conversa- 
tion I agreed, though somewhat against my 
better judgment, to let him try his plan. He 
set to work at once, and before midnight of 
the same day his arrangements were com- 
pleted. The sulphuric acid, diluted with 
water to four gallons, and contained in an 
old wine cask, was placed in a cupboard in 
my private office. The tap communicated 
with an indiarubber tube, and this with 
sundry lengths of composition pipe, perforated 
at intervals, which were lying, embedded 
in soda and sawdust, on the floor of the 
strong room. Above this was sprinkled a 
layer of fine earth, restoring the floor to its 
ordinary cellar-like appearance. The mys- 
terious knocking was resumed from eight 
o'clock till i a.m., but the operator did not 
seem to make any perceptible advance. 


Six days passed without any change of the 
situation, save that the sound of the excava- 
tions in the cellar became daily more audible, 
showing that the intervening wall was growing 
thinner. By careful observation of the sound 
we satisfied ourselves that the concealed 
operator was working at a space of wall some 
two feet square, probably intending, when 
this was sufficiently reduced in substance, 
forcibly to break away the thin remaining 

On the seventh day, however, I had a visit 
from the Count:. He h2.1i tliat morning 



received a letter from his son, a Captain in 
a crack French regiment. Ce tker Alphonse 
had been playing baccarat, it seemed, and to 
meet his losses the Count was compelled to 
withdraw for the moment the whole of his 
balance in the hands of the bank, though it 
would be replaced a few days later by remit- 
tances from other sources, 

I instructed a clerk to see how the Count's 
account stood, and the balance having been 
ascertained, he drew a cheque for the amount 
and departed with the money. u The plot 
thickens/' said Macpherson, when I told him 
of the visit u The grand coup is in all pro- 
bability for to-night," 


We watched accordingly. So soon as we 
had dined, we took up our position in my 
office. Our first proceeding was to cover up 
the bull's-eyes in the floor, that no light 
might shine through to the vault beneath. 
Macpherson next muffled the clapper of the 
electric alarm, so that it should give no sound 
beyond a faint tapping, sufficient to call our 

own attention, but not loud enough to be 
heard beyond the room in which we were. 
We wore felt slippers, that our footsteps 
might be noiseless. I had brewed a supply 
of strong coffee, to help to keep us wakeful, 
and on the table lay a couple of revolvers, 
and some lengths of sash-line wherewith to 
bind our expected captives, J Grady was 
Uvid to hold himself in readiness to come 
down to us instantly on receiving an agreed 

These preparations made, we sat down to 
beguile our vigil with a game of chess. At 
ordinary times we were very equally matched, 
but on this occasion Macpherson found me 
an easy victim, I could 
not keep my thoughts from 
wandering to the possible 
issues of the coming 
struggle. If all went well, 
I had but little to gain ; 
whereas if — (an awful " if " 
that) — Macpherson's plan 
broke down, and the attempt 
at robbery succeeded, my 
career as a bank manager 
would be utterly blasted. 
At this moment I must own 
I heartily regretted that I 
had allowed myself to be 
drawn into so Quixotic an 
enterprise, when I might 
have saved myself all 
anxiety by placing the 
matter in the hands of the 
proper guardians of the 
peace, or simply reporting 
it to the directors. 

Macpherson, on the con- 
trary, appeared to be troubled 
by no misgivings, and played 
even better than usual. 

" Fail ! " he said, when I 
suggested the possibility of 
such an event — " we can*t 
fail : any more than I can 
fail to win this game, which I 
undertake to do in four 
moves* Check ! " I made 
the best fight I could, but in 
four moves I was checkmated, 
I was nettled at my defeat, and deter- 
mined that Jie should not again win so easy 
a victory. With a strong effort of will, I 
concentrated my whole attention on the 
game, and thenceforth played as coolly as 
though the hidden enemy were a hundred 
miles awayijric}tfeilE'l^ytd on with varying 

fartun i?Ni t ^R?fwriF^fti'.j* n the fdnt 



" ting t+ of the electric alarm, followed by a 
heavy thud in the vault beneath, \varned us 
that the burglars had made good their 
entrance. With a meaning glance at me, 
Macpherson lighted a night - light, which 
stood carefully screened in one corner, and 
then extinguished the lamp, leaving the 
room in a dim twilight, just sufficient to 
enable us to move about He then removed 
the cover from one of the bull's-eyes in 
the floor, from which a view could be ob- 
tained of the portaon of the 
vault where we anticipated 
that the entrance would be 

A broad ray of light came 
up through the bull's-eye, 

through, though with difficulty, for his broad 
shoulders all but stuck in the narrow opening. 
The burglars now proceeded, by some method 
which was not quite clear to me, to fix 
sconces, holding lighted candles, to various 
parts of the wall They made a rapid 
examination of the two safes, and then, 
without further loss of time, the Count and 
Antoine set to work on the door of the 
larger, while the third man began like 
operations ort the smaller. 


Going on our knees we could see that 
an oblong slab, like the panel of a 
door, had been forced from the wall, and 
lay in fragments on the floor beneath. In 
the vault stood Antoine with his back 
towards us, while through the black opening 
left by the missing masonry some other 
person s whom we conjectured to be the 
Count, was handing crowbars, wedges, and 
other burglarious-looking implements. When 
all were handed in, the person on the other 
side began to creep through the opening, but 
to our astonishment it was not the plump 
figure of the Count that appeared, but that 
of a much- younger and slighter man, with 
fair, close-cropped hair. We looked at each 
other in perplexity* Suddenly the truth 
flashed upon me, " Madame, without her 
wig ! )T I whispered. 

Again a head appeared at the opening, and, 
aided by his friends , the Count scrambled 

So soon as they were fairly at work, 
Macpherson crossed the room to the barrel 
containing the diluted sulphuric acid, and 
turned on the tap, after which he returned to 
his post of observation by my side, " Keep 
your eye on that fellow working at the bottom 
of the smaller safe, He is nearer the floor. 
The gas will reach him before it touches 
either of the other two*" I watched, scarcely 
venturing to breathe, such was the intensity 
of my excitement Some ten or twelve 
minutes passed, and 1 began to fear Mac- 
pherson 's plan was a failure, when the man 
he had indicated dropped the tool he was 
using ; and after swaying from side to side 
for a moment, fell forward on his face in- 
sensible. His fall did not for the moment 
attract the attention of his comrades, busy as 
they were in their own share of the work. 
Presently, however, as the atmosphere became 
more abtf |tn^&|fiti4tEd/,kbfei candle lowest in 

4 8 


position began to burn less brightly, and at 
last the failure of light became so marked 
that the "Count," who was working at the 
upper part of the larger safe, turned round 
and looked at the candles with a puzzled 
air; finally snuff- 
ing them with 
his fingers, as if 
hoping to cure 
the defect in that 

Finding that 
his expedient had 
not the desired 
effect^ he turned 
round again, ap- 
parently to con- 
sult with his 
coll eagu es. 
Meanwhile, how- 
ever, the noxious 
gas had reached 
the level at 
which Antoine 
was working, and 
with a brief con- 
vulsive fight for 
breath, he threw 
up his arms, and 
fell senseless like 
the first victim* 
Never have I 
seen such an 
expression of 
terror as came 
over the face of 
the so-called 
Count, as he 
gazed on the 
fallen bodies of 
his accomplices* 
Already alarmed 

by the burning blue of the candles, it 
seemed to him no doubt that his com- 
panions had been struck down by some 
supernatural power. Panic -stricken, he made 
a rush for the hole in the wall, but it was 
too late. In the midst of his struggles to 
escape, the deadly gas overtook him, and he 
too fell back insensible, 

11 Not a bad night's work," said Mncphir 
son, aloud, as he ro.iC from his knees and 
proceeded to stop the flow of the acid. 
"Now we will ring for O'Grady, and then 
we must make all haste to lug these fellows 
out of that room. I did not bargain for 
three of them, and every minute the gas 
becomes more deadly. Remember what I 
told you. Venture in only just far enough 

*'he rati, EENsET^sa.'* 

to get a rope round your man, and hold 
your breath while you stoop to do it." 

At this moment CVGrady appeared, look- 
ing a little bewildered, for we had not told 
him why his presence would be required. 

"O'Grady," I 
said, u burglars 
have broken into 
the strong room, 
and I want you 
to fetch the 

" Bur-r-r-glars, 
is it ? iy replied 
O'Gradyj peep- 
ingdown through 
one of the bulls- 
eyes. One or two 
of the candles 
happened to have 
been fixed above 
the level which 
the gas had 
reached, and 
these still burned 
brightly, though 
the rest had long 
since gone out 

"Ghost of 
Moses! but 
they're all dead 
cor-r-r-rpses ! " 

"but they soon 
will be, unless 
we get them out 
pretty quickly," 

" But how the 
blazes did ye 
kill them ? Oh, 
sure, it's some 
of Mister Mac- 

of them i lie trie divilments 
pher son's." 

11 Never mind that now, 
the police, and you shall know all about it 

man ; hurry for 

Fortunately the police-station was only just 
over the way. Q'Grady started, leaving the 
door open behind him, and in a few minutes 
was back again, with a seigeant and 
two constables. Meanwhile, Macpherson 
and myself had opened the strong room, 
and with some difficulty had succeeded in 
getting out the man nearest the door, who 
happened to be Antoine, 

"Shall we tie his bands?" 1 inquired. 



son, M He's safe enough for the time ; and 
meanwhile the gas is spreading. Give me 
the rope again, and stand ready to pull" 

I handed him the rope, in which we had 
made a loop about three feet in length. 
Carefully holding his breath he slipped this 
over the body of the next man (the sham 
Countess de la Roche), and by hauling on the 
cord we managed to pull him through the 

What O'Grady had told the sergeant 
I cannot say, but the puzzled look on his 

" it's not quite so easy as it looks. That room 
is filled breast-high with a poisonous gas, which 
has knocked over those fellows as you see 
them. In the upper part of the room, where 
those candles are burning, the air is pure 
enough, but below that level it is suffocating. 
Our best plan will be to walk in and stand 
three on each side of that fellow. 1 will call 
1 one, two, three ! ' at the word c two,' each 
must dip down and lay hold of him, and at 
' three ' lift him up and carry him out, but 
don't breathe while you are stooping, or you 



face, as he flashed his bull's-eye on the forms 
of the two men lying in the passage-way 
outside the strong room, was most comical. 

" What's this, gentlemen — murder?" he in- 
quired, looking from me to Macpherson as if 
uncertain which of us to "run in." 

"Only burglary, at present, Mr. Jackson/' 
1 replied ; " and there are two of the burglars 
for you. The other is still in the strong room, 
and we shall be glad of your help to get him 

" That's soon done," said the officer, pre- 
paring to enter. 

i( Stop a bit," interrupted Macpherson ; 

Vol vi-7- 

will be knocked over as he is. Come 
along, O'Grady," for O'Grady, though plucky 
enough in a general way, had begun to 
back towards the stairs, with every appearance 
of terror. 

" Is it in there, along with thim ilictric 
divils ? Bedad, I'll lave that to my betthers. 
The climate's too onwholesome for the likes 
o' Tim O'Grady." 

There was no time to argue the point 
The remainder of the party marched into the 
strong room, and following the directions of 
Ma cpher so n t we _jS.iic^:eej4^d L jn- getting out the 
remaining burgtUJ OF MlQllGJlH 



"Why, good gracious," exclaimed the 
superintendent, " it's the Count ! " 

"Yes," I said, "the Count, and Antoine, 
and Madame ; all three of them." 

" It's a big haul," said the sergeant, " and 
such blackguards deserve all they get But 
I'm afraid you gentlemen will get into trouble 
for killing them." 

"No fear of that," said Macpherson. 
" Just get them across to the lock-up, and 
I'll come and bring them to life again. Will 
you come over and see the fun, Armstrong ? 
It won't take more than half an hour or so." 

"Thanks, old fellow, but not with that 
hole in the wall. I think I had better 
remain on the bank premises." 

" And I'll send a couple of men to look 
after the house next door," said the 

The three insensible men were removed on 
stretchers : a grim procession. Macpherson 
followed them to the police-station, but 
instead of the anticipated half-hour, it was 
more than three hours before he returned, 
and he looked completely exhausted. " I 
have had an awful fright," he said. "The 
other blackguards came round in twenty 
minutes or so ; but the young one, the sham 
madame, I really thought he was done for. 
He had a longer dose of the gas than the other 
two, and it was just touch and go with him. 
All's well that ends well, and it's been an 
extremely interesting experiment from a 
scientific point of view, but I really think, 
the next time I want to capture a burglar, I 
shall drop science and call in the police to 
collar him." 

Which is decidedly my own intention. 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 



Born 1832. 

EARLE, D.D., was educated at 
Oxford, and ordained deacon at 
twenty-six, at which age he is re- 
presented in our first portrait. 

Frrmi a | 

A' 1 1. _■' .. 


For some time he held the appointment of 
Vicar of Marlborough, whence he was trans- 
ferred to West Alvington, in the dioct-se of 

AKit. j*k {I'iwtOQraith. 

Exeter. At the age of thirty-three he was 
made Canon and Prebendary of Exeter, and 

Fhma Pfwio, bff] age 4 j< Uiruhtm (rkn. Tor^uaif. 

at forty received the appointment of Arch- 
deacon of Tobies. A few months ago he 
was created Rector of St. Michael's, Corn hi 11, 
and Bishop Suffragan of I^ondon, under the 
title of Bishop of Marlborough. 

From a Photo, bfl 






From a Photo. by\ ace aa [JNw, Hoker St, 

From a Photo, by] age 55* {H. h L$eure T Ratn^ 


Born 1822. 

daughter of Mr. Charles Cobbe, 
of Newbridge House, Co. Dublin, 
D.L., J. P. (who fought at Assaye 
as lieutenant in the 19th Light 
Dragoons), was born December 4th, 1822, 
and educated at Brighton. She has been a 
frequent contributor to the periodicals of the 
day, and is the author of a great number of 
works on the Rights and Higher Education 
of Women, and more than a hundred 
pamphlets and leaflets on the vivisection 
question. Miss Cobbe resided for some years 
in Bristol with the late Mary Carpenter, for 
the purpose of working at her reformatory and 
ragged schools ; and subsequently interested 

herself in plans for befriending young servants 
and for the relief of destitute incurables- 
After a residence in Italy she settled in 
London, and, besides her literary work, ^vas 
engaged in promoting the movement for ob- 
taining Parliamentary suffrage for women, In 
1880-81 she twice delivered to audiences of 
ladies a course of lectures on the Duties of 
Women ; these have been largely circulated 

Fry tn & thoto, &p| 

AGE 4 ■ ■ [MaviJ it Fax, London. 

40. 1 Maun a pox., 

3d by VjiGC 

From a Photo, by J PRESENT pav + I IluMa no f 1)1 d Bond SL 

in America, and also translated and published 
in Danish, Italian, and French. During the 
last fifteen years Miss Cobbe has been 
principally occupied in founding and directing 
as Hon. Sec. the Victoria Street Society for 
the Protection of Animals from Vivisection, 
an association of which the late Lord 
Shaftesbury was president, 




Ftvffn a J 



Born 1823* 


OF SAXE-WEIMAR was bom at Busing Park, 

and is a Colonel in the 1st Regiment of Life 

Guards, In 185 i t at the age of twenty-eight, 

he married, by a morganatic marriage, Lady ***** **■*,!*] a*e 4& \uv*& **** 
Augusta Lennox, daughter of the fifth Duke 
of Richmond and Gordon, who, by a special 

Prom a. phtyUh 

From a Drau-in u] 

decree of the Queen y bears the title in 
England of Princess Edward of Saxe- Weimar. 

from tMfTpVxr&l | \ 'JT imI CTllVJ 




ACE 4* [Druuing. 

Born 1823, 

MULLER, one of the most eminent 
scholars and teachers of languages alive, 
is the son of the celebrated German 
poet, Wilhelm M tiller, and was born 
and educated at Dessau. At twenty-three he came 

to England and 
took up his resi- 
dence at Oxford, 
where he was ap- 
pointed a Professor 
of Languages. His 



age sa 

i Ifra wim g. 

ACS 14. 
From a tuintinff. 

books, among the 
most popular of 
which is "Chips From 
a German Workshop," 
are written with a 
charm of style which 
few Englishmen could 
equal, and his influence, 
not only in England 
but abroad, especially 
India, has greatly 
helped the study of 
Oriental languages, and 
thrown much fresh 

From & Photo. &*J PRESENT DAY. 

AGE 34. 
Frum a PhhUvmt* 

light upon the origin 
of the religions and 
superstitions of man- 
kind. Our last por- 
trait shows him as a 
Member of the Insti- 
tute of France (of 
which he is one of 
the eight foreign 
members) and wear- 
ing the insignia of 
the Qrdre pour k 
Mir He, He is also 
one of the ten foreign 
members of the Reale 
Accademia del Lincei 
of Rome, and has re- 
ceived the Order of 
I ft^TiNorthern Star of 



ACE 7, 

From a Daffwrreotifpe by Ktunzdv* QlatQaur. 


Born 1849, 

DAVID MURRAY was born 
at Glasgow, and was at first 
intended to follow a commercial 
career, and it was only on Satur- 
days, when he was free from 
business, that he could find time to follow 



Frotn a Ph^io. bit AlcMrvler Brvlh*r», tfialpMA 

his inclinations in the study of art His 
natural gift was, however, too powerful to be 
kept down by any pressure of unfavourable 
circumstances, and in 1882 his picture. 

"Glen Sannox," was one of the attractions 
of the Royal Academy, and gave promise of 
that happy rendering of Scotch scenery for 
which his name has since become so well 
known. Another of his pictures, " My Love 
Has Gone a-Sailing," was purchased for the 

Fraiti a phtitn. try) 

AGE 30. 

[X Q. C&£| l>vm 

nation under the Chantrey bequest ; and in 
January, 189 1, Mr, Murray was elected an 
Associate of the Royal Academy, and has 
exhibited more than a hundred water-colour 
sketches at the Fine Art Society. 





r rtJMt *&■ 

AGE 19. 


Born 1832. 
is the son of the late Sir Abraham 
Roberts, GX.B., and received 
his first commission, as second 
lieutenant in the Bengal Artillery, 
at nineteen. He served with distinction 
through th^ Indian Mutiny, and received the 
Victoria Cross for personal bravery at twenty- 

six, for having rescued, single-handed, a 
standard from two Sepoys, after a desperate 
fight He served through the Abyssinian 
and Afghan campaigns, in the latter of which 
he held the chief command, and after a 
series of brilliant victories inflicted a crush- 
ing defeat on Ayoob Khan, On his return 

From u Photo, by } 

AGE 55* [G. U, 1/nHdi, ^GJiflcilWe, 

to England in 1S80, aged 48, he was loaded 
with honours, presented with the freedom of 
London, received the thanks of Parliament, 
and was created a Baronet In 1885 he 
was appointed Commander-in-Chief in India, 
and recently received the title of Baron 
Roberts of Candahar 

iVpmn i'hoU*. t\\, 

AGE 4$r 

[MauU ** Fot 

[' U t. v i," "\ "T- r -, \ **• 

From the French of 

Abraham Dreyfus 

by Constance Beerbqhm* 

Characters: Mr. Mobf.kly (Dick) and Mrs. Moberly (Fanny). 

Scene : A small drawing-room in a country 
house. Doors to the right and left Two arm- 
chairs before tlie fire. Sofa io the left. A 
table, with brandy and soda-water bottles upon 
it, to the right. Clock on the mantelpiece* 

Explanation : (The author does not give 
minute stage directions to Mr. Moberly 
(Dick), The interpreter of the character slwuld 
indicate by look and gesture exactly what he 
means. Great care must be taken to shim* 
that it is not intended io play the part in dumb 
shout, as was the case in " E 'Enfant Prodigutl 1 
It should clearly be indicated that Dick would 
speak, if he were not prevented by Fanny's 
pouring forth a long torrent of angry words 
without sufficient pause for him to break in 
upon her + ) * 

Fanny (alone; She sits by the fire liold- 
ing in her hands a piece of lace work> at 
which she is stitching with evident impatience. 
After a minute she looks up at the clock): 
Eleven o'clock. (In a tone of suppressed 
irritation) Eleven ! (Noise of footsteps 
without.) At last ! (She goes on working) 

f Dick enters quickly \ makes a movement to 
come forward and kiss his wife. She parries 
the hiss and goes on working without raising 
her eyes, Dick looks at her in surprise. 
Fan xv rises with dignified anger. Dick 
makes a movement towards her.) 

Fanny: Let me pass, will you? (DtCK 

T^e part was played in Paris by Monsieur Coquelin with 
immense success. 
VoL vi.— 8. 


follmvs Iter with his eyes. Fanny goes to the 
door. Turns \ speaking with solemnity): All is 
now over between us ! (She rushes from the 
room, Dick tries to follow, but the door shuts 
in his face.) 

Dick (alone: He is in consternation, and 
indicates by gesture that fie cannot understand 
the reason of his wife's anger. Perhaps she 
?nay be joking/ He listens at the keyhole. 
No found is to be heard, Then, as if to 
prepare against a coming storm \ he throws 
himself into an arm-chair and takes up the 
paper, which he unfolds and reads with an 
air of intending to be master of the situation.) 

Fanny returns and cor fronts Dick. 

Fanny : So you think that we are to go on 
like this ? 

Dick (surprised) 

Fanny i You think that after I have spent 
the whole evening waiting for you to come 
home j that I ought to be only too happy to 
sit down quietly and watch you read the 
newspaper ? 

Dick (just going to rise) 

Fanny : Oh ! Pray don't rise ! I should 
be sorry to disturb you ! 1 quite understand 
that after being out the whole day long you 
are naturally tired and wish to rest, 

Dick (just going to speak) 

Fanny : I am only sorry I have waited for 
you. Had I known you were not coming 
home till midnight — — 

Dick (looks at ike clock) 





Fanny : I beg pardon, that dock is at least 
an hour too slow. 

Dick (looks at his watch) 

Fanny : But that doesn't matter to you. 
What do you care about the time ? Twelve 
o'clock, one o 3 clock, two o'clock, three 
o'clock, it's all the same so long as you are 
enjoying yourself ! 

Dick (on the point of protesting) 

Fanny : It greatly amused you, I daresay, 
to keep me waiting for you all this long time, 
and to make me miserable on my birthday. 
For this is my birthday, though you had 
forgotten it ! 

Dick (protests) 

Fanny : But you do not deceive me ! 

Dick (smites) 

Fanny : Yes ! Smile ! Though it scarcely 
becomes you ! 

Dick (his smile broadens) 

Fanny : You know that you met Miss 
Verney at the station when the London train 
came in* 

Dick (amased) 

Fanny : I feel sure of it No ! Don't 
make matters worse by denying it And you 
drove back in the cart with her and dined at 
"The Hollies" with her people. Horrid, 
designing girl ! T know her too well ! 

Dick (expostulate) 

Fanny (cutting him short); Oh! I 
know what you were on the point of 
telling me ! That you had been up to 
London, for the annual dinner of the 
members of the Board of Trade. And 
all the members married and venerable. 
The president himself an octogenarian. 
Had it only been allowed, the members 
would have liked to have brought their 
wives with them, 

Dick (half amused, again on the point 
of speaking) 

Fanny : You were bored ? But I dare- 
say you made yourself most agreeable ! 
You can be so agreeable, when you like ! 

Dick (disclaiming) 

Fanny ; At least, 1 have been told so + 

Dick (shakes his head, smiling) 

Fanny: You keep your amiability for 
others than me. 

Dick (approaches Fanny kindly ) 

Fanny : No ! Don't speak to me ! I 
am only your wife, after all ! .And not 
please you. 


plain enough, I suppose, to 

Fanny: To please you, one must be 

pale, thin, hideously dressed. After having 

once seen Flora Verney, it is easy enough 
to judge of your taste in women ! It is 
evident you like a tailor-made gown, bought 
at a country linen-draper's ! 

DrcK (shakes his head) 

Fanny : And that girl actually dared, yes ! 
dared) to call upon me yesterday ! 

Dick (inclined to gentleness) 

Fanny : You do well to seem as if nothing 
were the matter \ Yet wasn't Dr, Verney, 
Flora's own father, one of your kindest 
friends ? Didn't he come three times a day 
to see you when you had the measles ? And 
didn't Flora and I play together as children ? 


Fanny : You can't be aware how 
everyone remarks upon your being seen 
so often at the Verney*' house — whilst 
. I am here all alone, dull, miserable, fretting 
myself to death from morning until night 
(Up to this moment Fanny has not ceased to 
speak, pouring out her words without a single 
pause. But OH thus last words, "from morning 
until night" she stops to take breath. DtCK 
concludes it is his turn to speak, and prepares.) 

Dick (opens his mouth) 

Fanny {continuing rapidly to prevent his 
speaking) - If Dr. Verney likes to keep open 
house, he is very willing. Everybody is 
master of his own, 

Dick (sinks lark discouraged in his attempt) 




Fanny: It is a strange thing, when one 
comes to think of it, that you should find so 
much to admire in the mind and manners of 
the daughter of a dancing mistress ! 

Dick (surprised) 

Fanny: You are surprised ! Why, I remem- 
ber well that mother told me Mrs. Verney 
really did teach dancing, until she met the 
Doctor, and he proposed to her. (Bites her 
lip as if aware of having told a fib, and then 
continues boldly ): Yes, she was a wonderful 
teacher of the gavotte, the minuet, the 

Dick (looks incredulous) 

Fanny : You don't believe me ? No ! 
Such a thought would quite disturb your 
peace of mind and destroy your great ideal ! 

Dick (irritated) 

Fanny : I beg many pardons. In future 
I will say no word excepting in praise of 
Flora. Everything she does shall be as 
perfect in my eyes as in yours. She may 
steal my husband's heart ; she may tear a 
father away from his only child; she may 
bring ruin and despair upon this home, once 
so happy. I will not complain, I will say 
nothing. I will try to look upon it as 
thoroughly right, thoroughly natural. 


Fanny: Is not this enough 
for you ? Or must I throw 
myself at the feet of Flora 
Verney, and tell her I admire 
her conduct above all things ? 

(Fanny stops y and this time 
Dick would not find it difficult 
to answer, but merely shrugs 
his shoulders ■, as if at the end 
of his tether.) 

Fanny : Virtuous indigna- 
tion well becomes you, since 
you haven't a word 
to say for yourself ! 

(Dick turns 
round and tries to 
speak ; Fanny 
breaks in.) 

Fanny : Not a 
word ! N ot a 
word ! ! Not a 
single word ! ! ! 

Dick (coming 
nearer to her) 

Fanny : Do you 
mean to use per- 
sonal violence? 
Ah ! That is right ! 
Quite right! I 
won't prevent you ! 

(This time Dick, beside himself as if to put 
an end to such nonsense, makes for the door.) 

Fanny : Ah ! You haven't the courage ! 
You are afraid I shall ring up the maids for 

Dick (coming back) 

Fanny : But you are wrong ; I should be 
ashamed to make a scandal, and show you in 
your true light to our own servants. 

(Dick now decides not to answer.) 

Fanny (repeating) : To show you in your 
true light to our own servants. 

(Dick glances at her coldly and then pro- 
vokingly down at the carpet.) 

Fanny (furious) : Do you hear what I say ? 

(He pretends not to hear, and taking up 
the newspaper again, settles himself comfortably 
in his chair.) 

Fanny : Oh, you refuse to answer me ! 
You read your paper. An easy way of 
shirking unpleasant truths. (She approaches 
him.) Some men would have the heart to 
speak, seeing a woman — a wife — sad, driven 
wretched, almost in despair — would try to 
reason with her by a friendly gesture, a gentle 
word, a look of kindness. Is it so hard to 
show a little pity for the woman who loves 
you ? 







out that 


fDiCK, somewhat moved, lets his paper fall. 
Before he can speak f she continues,) 

Fanny : And, after all, what do I ask 
you ? Only to tell me, in a Few words, where 
you have been since the morning? 


Fanny : Yes. And to admit that it is a 
Utile mistake to come home at midnight ! 

Dick (on the point of replying) 

Fanny (interrupts): At midnight! Al- 
though the London train does come in at 

Dick (the same) 

Fanny : You looked 
train, yourself, yesterday, 


Fanny : And, of course, 


Fanny : And worried ! 


Fanny r I ask you 

Dick (tries once m&re to 

Fanny (preventing him); 
And you won't give me an 
answer, (Bursts into tears 
and throws herself upon the 
sofa. Dick looks pityingly 
at her.) 

Fanny (sobbing) ; Oh I 
Mother J Mother ! Had 
you known my heart was to break 3 
(Dick beside himself.) And this is only the 
beginning of my misery. (Dick puts his 
hand on her shoulder. She repulses him.) 

Fanny ; Leave me ! I don't wish for your 
false pity ! Your hypocrisy I You wished to 
make me cry ! You have your wish. What 
more can you want ? 

(Dick now feels this is too mueh. His atti- 
tude changes ; he loses patience and walks to 
the other end of the room.) 

Fanny: Oh, I know I'm perfectly absurd. 
Crying is the proper thing for me, and I 
ought to begin by accustoming myself to 
it, How many women have wretched lives 
and are neglected by their husbands? But 
oni: cairt break up every home ! And 
everyone so believed in you* Excepting poor 
dear old Aunt Rose, who saw more clearlv. 

(Dick, standing near the mantelpiece with 
his back to the audience \ turns inquiringly at 
the last words.) 

Fanny : Yes. In spite of her seventy-nine 
years, she was able to look into the future, 
and said : "Fanny, darling, Like care ! That 
man is not all he seems w 


Dick (impatient) 

by Google 

Fanny (continuing) ; " But a good-for- 
nothing, who will make your young life a 
burden to you. JJ 

(Dick now gitws signs of increasing anger -, 
and at the word u burden" snaps a wooden 
paper-knife in tivo ivhich he has been toying 

Fanny : That is your way of answering 
me ! 

(Dick: breaks away, enraged ; but mastering 
himself goes to side-table^ and pours out a 
glass of soda - 7vater, which he slowly 

Fanny : I must beg you not to drink 
brandies and soda* in my drawing-room ! 
Only yesterday you let some drops fall upon 
the pink brocade sofa-cushion, my favourite 
wedding present. 

(Dick gives a took of polite regret, and 
then pours himself out another glass , this time 
with brandy.) 

Fanny: There isn't anything you wouldn't 
do to grieve me. You knew that cushion 
had been given to me by mother. And you 
choose (sobbing) to make me wretched to- 
day, on the very day of all others — my birth- 
day ! 




(Dick looks at her with compassion, and is 
going to reply,) 

Fanny : Ah ! Don't make matters worse 
by denying it ! Don't tell a falsehood ! 
Don't tell a lie ! 

(Dick looks at his audience, as if to 
make it witness. Then turns smiling to 
his wife.) 

Fanny : Well ! What is it ? Why won't 
you speak? 

(Dick still silent, takes out of his pocket 
a velvet case, which he gives to his wife.) 

Fanny (looks at it, and reads the inscription); 
"To Fanny, on her twenty-second birthday. 
From her devoted husband." And you went 
up to London to get this for me, and were 
kept until the last train ? Only for that ! 
( With a sudden revulsion.) Oh, Dick ! how 
good of you ! Oh, Dick ! I do love you, 
Dick ! (Throws her arms round his neck.) 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair. 





THE sub-division of parties 
arising out of the adoption of 
Home Rule as a principal plank 
in Mr. Gladstone's platform has 
worked a curious and notable effect upon 
conditions of debate in the House of 
Commons, Time was when the House was 
divided between two political parties, one 
calling themselves Whigs or Liberals, the 
other Tories or Conservatives, When a 
member took part in debate he faced the 
foe, having the satisfaction of being 
surrounded and sustained by the company 
of friends. Now a member rising on either 
side does not precisely know where he is. 
The whole assembly is so inextricably mixed 
up that whichever way one turns he is certain 
to find unfriendly faces. The position of 
affairs is akin to that of a close mel<fe on the 
battle-field. A battery in excellent position 
is afraid to fire lest in aiming at the enemy it 
may slay friends. 

The new departure was marked on the 
birth of the Parliament of 1880, and it was, 
as usual, the Irish who took it. Through the 
Parliament of 1874, 
the Irish members t 
forming in accord- 
ance with their habit 
and customs part of 
the regular Opposi- 
tion, sat together 
below the gangway, 
at the Speaker's left 
hand. When Lord 
Beaconsfield was 
routed at the polls, 
and Mr, Gladstone 
took his place on 
the Treasury Bench, 
the Opposition in 
the House of Com- 
mons crossed over 
to the Ministerial 
side. But the Irish 
members resolved to 
remain where they 
were. A change 



of Ministry, more or less, was nothing to 

Tros Tyrinsoe mi hi nul/o dfccrimtm age fur. 
All Saxon Governments who refused to 
grant Home Rule to Ireland were their 
natural enemies, and they would remain with 
their back to the wall, their face to the foe. 

This was a startling innovation on Parlia- 
mentary practice* made the more embarrass- 
ing by the circumstance that it brought the 
Irish members into close personal contact 
with a class that had been especially bitter in 
its animosity. Mr. Biggar, who, Imperial 
politics apart, was understood to be some- 
thing in the pork and bacon line, sat 
on the same bench shoulder to shoulder 
with the son of a duke. Other members of 
the party similarly circumstanced at home 
more or less enjoyed analogous companion- 
ship. First, there was some doubt in the 
Conservative breast whether these things 
might be. Since Parliaments were, it had 
been the custom for the Opposition to cross 
over in a body on a change of Ministry, 
and question was raised whether the Irish 

members might vary 
the custom* The 
S peaker , pri va t ely 
consulted, declared 
he was powerless in 
the matter. A duly- 
returned member of 
the House of Com- 
mons may sit any- 
where he pleases 
except on the 
Treasury Bench. 
Even the Front Op- 
position Bench, as 
some years later the 
House had occasion 
to learn, is not 
sacred to the use 
of ex - Ministers, 
although it is usually 
reserved for their 
convenience. It 
shoulder/ belongs by ancient 




right to Privy Councillors, and any such may* 
if he pleases, take his scat there, even though 
he never served in the Ministry, 

Thus when the late Mr, Beresford Hope 
was evicted by the Fourth Party from his 
corner seat below the gangway, he crossed 
over and found a resting-place on the Front 
Opposition Bench, retaining it till his death* 
The gentleman who is now Lord Cubitt, being 
a Privy Councillor, always asserted his right 
to address the House from the table, 

The Irish members, remaining in their old 
quarters, got along through the Parliament of 
tSSo much better than was at the outset 
expected. The Fourth Party set up in 
business for themselves at the corner of the 
Front Bench below the gangway. On the 
two benches behind them the Irish members 
were massed, and Lord Randolph Churchill 
frequently found the contiguity convenient 
when he had occasion to consult Mr. Tim 
Healy or other of the allies of the Constitu- 
tional party, then making common cause 
against Mr. Gladstone's Government. 

That arrangement was all very well in its 
way ; was indeed not without logical justifi- 
cation. The Irish 
members were at the 
time in deadly opposi- 
tion to the Govern- 
ment, and that they 
should sit on the Op- 
position side was con- 
venient and desirable. 
It established and 
maintained the condi- 
tions that combatants 
should face each other. 
It is a different thing 
now, the localizing of 
parties being in a hope- 
lessly intermixed state. 
The Irish members 
still keep their old 
places below the gang- 
way on the Opposition 
side, but being there they find themselves split 
up into two sections. There are two kings 
in the Irish Brentford, and while Mr. Justin 
McCarthy, leader of the larger section, sits 
with his friends on the third bench, Mr. John 
Redmond occupies the corner seat on the 
fourth bench. Nor does this division re- 
present the full measure of variety. Mr. 
William Redmond has planted himself out in 
the very arcanum of Toryism, on a back 
bench behind ex-Ministers. There he sits, 
solitary among the gentlemen of England, 
none holding converse with him, and he, 


apparently, thoroughly enjoying isolation. 
From time to time the House is startled by 
hearing from this quarter explosh'e sentences, 
expressing sentiments foreign to those usually 
associated with Our Old Nobility, from whose 
citadel they fall upon the shocked ear, 

The Labour Party is another new section 
developed in the modern House of 
Commons, They are exceedingly few in 
number, their political object is capable 
of narrow definition, and they, of all people, 
might be expected to sit together. But they, 
also, are divided. Mr. Keir Hardie and 
Mr. John Burns rise from time to time to 
address the Speaker from a back bench 
below the gangway on the Opposition side, 
whilst Mr, Have lock Wilson and other 
accredited representatives of the working 
classes sit immediately opposite, on the 
Ministerial side* When any Minister or 
private member desires to address himself 
personally and directly to labour questions, he 
is thus compelled to divide his attention 
between diverse sides of the House. 

The position of the Dissentient Liberals is, 
perhaps, on the whole, most embarrassing, as 
being contrary to the traditions and 
convenient forms of the House, It is a little 
better in the present Parliament, since the 
Treasury Bench is free from the invasion to 
which Mr. Gladstone and his colleagues were 
subjected when they were tenants on the 
Front Opposition Bench. Mr, Chamberlain, 
Sir Henry James, and Mr, Heneage now sit 
with the rank-and-file of their party, not, 
as heretofore, mixed up with the Liberal 
leaders. But their quarters are selected 
on the Ministerial side. They sit surrounded 
by gentlemen from whom, on political 
grounds, they are separated by feelings of 
bitter animosity. 

The effect of this state of things is, to a 

extent, para- 
ly t ic on 
debate. It 
affects both 
orator and 
audience. It 
is a habit 
marked with 
Mr, Glad- 
stone, and 
common in 
degree with 
other speak- 
ers, to turn 
and face 




supporters or Opposition according as the 
current passage in his argument may suggest 
Now, as far as ordered lines of subdivision are 
concerned , there is neither Ministerial host nor 
Opposition, With a larger application of Mr. 
Bright s famous simile, it may be said that 
the House of Commons is like one of those 
hairy terriers of which it is difficult to 
distinguish between either extremity, Mr. 
Gladstone driving home an argument in 
favour of Home Rule, turning with eager face 
towards the benches opposite, finds himself 
preaching to the converted, being confronted 
by some eighty Irishmen, the very advance 
guard of his own 
party. Turning round 
with smiling face and 
palms outstretched 
for the sympathy and 
applause of the 
Liberal party, he 
meets the cold 
glance of Mr. Cham- 
berlain's eye, and 
sees beyond that 
right hon, gentleman 
the buff waistcoat of 
Mr. Courtney. 

These are chilling 
influences which tell 
even upon Mr, Glad- 
stone, and are fatal 
to the success of 
less experienced 
debaters* The con se- 
quence o f th e exi s ti ng 
state of things works even fuller effect upon 
the audience. It is responsible for the marked 
decline observable this Session of the prac- 
tice of cheering. It will be seen from the 
slight sketch given of the localities of sections 
of party that it is now physically impossible 
to get up a bout of that cheering and 
counter-cheering which up to recent times 
was one of the most inspiring episodes in 
Parliamentary debate. That is possible only 
when the audience is massed in two clearly- 
defined sections. One cheers a phrase dropped 
by the member addressing the House; the 
other side swiftly responds; the cheer is 
fiercely taken up by the party who started 
it, echoed on the other side, and so the game 
goes forward, Now, as will be clearly seen, 
if the Conservative Opposition set up a cheer 
the Irish members sitting among them must 
remain silent, the Dissentient Liberals ob- 
serving the same attitude when the Minis- 
terialists break forth into applause. They 
take their turn when opportunity presents 

Digitized by XjOOglC 


itself. But the whole thing is inextricably 
mixed up and loses its significance. Parlia- 
mentary cheering to be effective must be 
spontaneous, and, within the limits of party, 
unanimous. Hopelessly embarrassed by the 
situation, members are discontinuing the 
practice of cheering* thus withdrawing a 
wholesome stimulus from debate. 

One of the minor consequences 

fathers of the withdrawal of Mr, Henry 

and sons. Sarauelson from Parliamentary 

life is that there simultaneously 

disappeared from the House of Commons an 

interesting and unique phenomenon. It is a 

common, and per- 
haps natural, thing 
that sons sharing 
honours with their 
fathers should feel 
themselves embar- 
ras singly over- 
whelmed with the 
parental position and 
authority. The 
present House con- 
tains several ex- 
amples which will 
instantly suggest 
themselves. An ad- 
ditional one was 
spared by the stra- 
tegic movement of 
Mr. Hicks (Vibbs. 
In the last Parlia- 
ment that eminent 
merchant appropriately represented the City 
of London. At the last General Election one 
of his sons stood with fair chance of elec- 




tion by the Sl Albans Division of Herts. 
Mr. Gibbs thereupon retired from Parlia- 
mentary life, transferring his safe seat for the 
City of London to his elder son, thus leaving 
two able young men to make their way in 
Parliamentary life, unembarrassed by the 
presence on the scene of the head of the 

With Mr. Henry Samuelson and 
his respected father matters stood 
V * aff / on a different footing. Mr. Bern- 
" •*' ' hard Samuelson, member for 

Ban bur)' in the Parliament of 1880, is a man 
of sterling ability, a Fellow of the Royal 
Society, an ironmaster at Middlesbrough, 
and (though no one would suspect it) a 
Knight of the I^egion of Honour. As 
an authority on educational matters, 
Banbury always thought he took the 
cake. But he was nothing in the House 
of Commons when son Henry appeared 
on the scene. The Parliamentary rela- 
tions of the two were in their way a 
realization of a phase of Mr. Anstey's 
immortal "Vice-Versa," Possibly it would 
have been a difficult matter for anyone to 
impress Mr, Henry Samuelson with a sense 
of his own comparative srnallness* Certainly 
his father never succeeded in the undertaking. 
What threatened to become an awkward 
situation was averted by an act of magnan- 
imity on the part of Samuelson_^/y, for which 
perhaps the House, though it knew him, was 
not prepared. Reversing the movements in 
the Gibbs family, the son retired from the 
Parliamentary scene, leaving his father in un- 
disturbed possession. 

It was a noble act, but in 
case virtue, with something less 
ordinary unobtrusiveness, brought its 
reward. The member for 
Banbury, relieved from the 
moral incubus of his son's 
superiority, speedily blos- 
somed into a baronetcy, 
and the former member 
for Frome in his act of 
self-abnegation was, all 
unknowingly, preparing the 
way for his becoming the 
second Baronet of Bodi- 
cote Grange, 

The most 

Herbert familiar and 

Gladstone, the supremest 

case known to 
the House of Commons 
of a son being over- 
shadowed by the reputa- 


Vol y\,— 9. 



tion and renown of a father is found in the 
case of the member for Leeds. Mr. Herbert 
Gladstone is a man of wide culture, rare 
knowledge of public affairs, shrewd judgment, 
tireless energy, and sound common-sense. 
Moreover, he is, as is better known in the 
country than in the House of Commons, an 
admirable and effective speaker. One of the 
most constant attendants on the business of 
the House, his name standing high in the 
derelict Buff Book for the number of divisions 
he has taken part in, ho never, or hardly 
ever, speaks in the House of Commons. 

His elder broth er, when he sat in 
the House, occupied a precisely similar 
position. To him it was more natural, 
being of a gentle, retiring disposition, 
with no affinity for public life. He 
sat in the House of Commcns for many 
years, but I do not remember hearing him 
speak. He had a curious way of entering 
by a doorway under the gallery and timidly 
making for a back seat. He habitually wore 
an apologetic air, as if he really begged you to 
excuse him going about as " Mr. Gladstone/' 
an appellation shared in common with his 

Herbert Gladstone is cast in another 
mould. He took to politics and the House 
of Commons with the same avidity as did 
William Pitt. But when Pitt entered the 
House his illustrious father had been dead 
two years. Fourteen years earlier he had 
quitted the Commons for the Lords, and 
only a few of the young member for 
Appleby's contemporaries were in a position 
to make comparisons between father and 
son- Herbert Gladstone is returned to 
the House his father still adorns, and in 
such circumstances has as much chance of 
shining there as the most 
reputable planet enjoys 
when the sun is at 
meridian. He long ago 
deliberately abandoned the 
approach to endeavour, 
and his energy, which is 
great, and his capacity, 
which is high, are devoted 
to the service of the party 
in the country, 

Mr. Herbert Gladstone 
has, perhaps, too acute a 
sense of the proper feeling 
in his peculiar circum- 
stances. Talking on this 
subject he once, told me 
that whilst he can speak 
without any embarrassment 




on a public platform, he can never rise to 
address a meeting which numbers his father 
among the audience without faltering tongue 
and trembling knees. I remember something 
like ten years ago an interesting scene in 
which a crowded House took the kindliest 
interest At that time Mr, Henry Northcote 
sat for Exeter, and Mr Herbert Gladstone 
had at the General Election been elected 
for Leeds, Mr. Gladstone was Premier, 
and Sir Stafford Northcote sat on the 
Front Bench as Leader of the Opposition, 
daily striving with the Fourth Party, then 
in the plenitude of its young life. It was 
arranged that in some debate the two young 
scions of the opposing houses should in 
succession make their maiden speech. I 
forget what the occasion was, but well 
remember the crowded House, and on the 
two Front Benches, facing 
each other, the fathers, 
critical, kindly, and on the 
whole well pleased, each 
hastening to pay a compli- 
ment to the other's son. 

It is difficult 
the to picture one 
McCarthys, of the gentle 
mood and in- 
stinctively retiring habits 
of Mr, Justin McCarthy 
hampering anyone with a 
consciousness of his 
superiority. His modesty 
is even more conspicuous 
than his capacity, which 
seems an exaggerated form 
of speech. But un- 
doubtedly the presence of 
the father, even so gentle 
a presence as this, operated 
in the direction of effacing 
the son. Huntley McCarthy 
is a young man who might 
well have been expected to 
make a high position for himself in the House 
of Commons. Of good presence, with pleasant 
voice, a pretty turn of phrasing, a mind 
stored with learning, familiar with history 
and politics, touched with the tender light 
of poetry, he should have gone straight to the 
heart of the House of Commons. But he 
rarely spoke, and took an early opportunity 
of gracefully retiring from the scene. 

Mr. Bernard Coleridge in this, 

mr. cole- at least, resembles Pitt, that he 

ridgk is not handicapped by the 

presence in the House of an 

illustrious father. Still like the younger 



Pitt, he has the further advantage of his 
father's disappearance from the scene at a 
period so remote that there are few of his 
contemporaries in the present House. It is 
doubtful, moreover, whether the member for 
the Attercliffe Division of Sheffield would have 
been embarrassed had his father still been 
sitting fci Exeter. We must not be misled 
by the coincidence that he bears the same 
Christian name as the young gentleman 
who sat for Frome in the Parliament of 
1874. If any movement of the kind then 
suggested by family devotion had been en- 
tered upon, it is not probable that Bernard 
Coleridge j hke Bern hard Samuelson, would 
have retired from the scene, so that his father 
might have fuller scope. He is too deeply 
impressed with the debt he owes his country 
to permit natural modesty or family affection 
to draw him into taking a back seat He is 
filled with that ambition which distinguished 
the acceptable youth who figures in Le Nou- 
veau Jeu w " Soyons de notre dpoque," says 
Costard, " Je veux me me etre plus que le 
jeune homme d'aujourdTiuL Je veux etre 
le jeune homme de demain, d'aprfes-demain 
si possible." For Mr. Coleridge possibility 
looms larger even than this, nothing more 
than the middle of next week bounding his 
clear, steadfast vision. 

Mr. Coningsby Disraeli is not 
handicapped in the Parliamentary 
race by overbearing connection 
with the fame of his father. 
That gentleman was not unknown at West* 
minster, he having through many years 
occupied a useful position in the legislative 
machinery, serving in wig and gown as one 
of the clerks at the table of the House of 
Lords. It was from that comparatively 








humble position he, on a February afternoon 
in 1877, watched the entrance on a new 
scene of his illustrious brother It chanced 
that on this day the Queen opened Parlia- 
ment in person, and made her entry with all 
the ceremony proper to the rare occasion. But 
for the distinguished and illustrious crowd 
that peopled the chamber from floor to top- 
most gallery the most attractive figure in the 
pageant was that disguised in red cloak 
tipped with ermine, who bore aloft a sword 
sheathed in jewelled scabbard, and whom the 
world thenceforward knew as Benjamin Earl 
of Beaconsfield. 

It is with the Parliamentary fame of his 
uncle that the young member for Altrincham 
has to struggle To be a Disraeli in the 
House of Commons is to fill a place from 
the occupant of which much is expected. It 
is to Mr. Coningsby I) israelii credit in the 
past, full of hope for the future, that he has 
hitherto shown himself so modestly that few 
members know his personal appearance or 
where he sits. Before he found a seat in the 
House he threatened to fall into courses of 
conduct that alarmed his best friends. He 
took to writing in the Times on questions of 
Imperial policy, lucubrations the style of which 
was plainly founded on his uncle's earliest 
and worst style. This procedure seemed to 
portend that when he once took his seat he 
would be incessantly rising from it and 
putting things straight generally. Happily he 
has taken the wiser course, sitting attentive 
and watchful, endeavouring to learn before he 
begins to teach. Up to this present time of 
writing he has interposed only once in the 
proceedings of the House, and that was to 
ask a pertinent question, addressed to the 
Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs* Probably 
for him also " the time will come when we 

j>W/ hear him," He is 
j ud i c i ously prepari n g 
for it by a reasonable 
interval of silence. 

No one 
would, with whatso- 
ever imaginative 
fancy, be able to 
construct out of him 
the Earl of Sel borne 
as he is known in the 
House of Lords and 
other phases of 






public life. It is im- 
possible to conceive two men of more widely 

different temperament, personal appearance, 
or modes of thought. Lord Selborne might 
stand as II Pen serosa f whilst Lord Wolmer 
might dance as UAltegro w There are few 
members of the 
present House of 
Commons who recol- 
lect Sir Roundell 
Palmer seated on the 
Treasury Bench as 
Attorney -General. 
Lord Palm erst on was 
Prime Minister at the 
time; Mr* Gladstone 
was for the third time 
Chancellor of the Ex- 
chequer; Sir George 
Grey had lately suc- 
ceeded Cornewall 
Lewis at the Home 
Office ; Lord John 
Russell was Foreign 
Secretary; Lord LORD WO lm*jl 

Westbury was Lord 

Chancellor; and Sir Robert Peel was just 
beginning to tire of the Irish Office, because, 
as he found to be the case in those halcyon 
days, there was not enough to keep the Chief 
Secretary going. 

Lord Wolmer is relieved from competition 
in the House of Commons with the 
memory of his father. He will possibly 
never rival his father's fame, but he really 
means business in the political world. He 
had an admirable training as Whip to the 
Dissentient Liberal party w T hen it was led 
in the Commons by Lord Hartington. When 
he was returned for Edinburgh in the new 
Parliament, he thought the time had come 
when he might better serve his country in 
the Legislative Chamber than in the bustling 
Lobby. Early in his new career he received 
a slight check, having, with the exuberance 
of comparative youth and extreme conviction, 
spoken of the Irish members in terms that 
led to an awkward debate on a question of 
breach of privilege. But Lord Wolmer has 
survived that, and though it led to a 
momentary pause in his public conversation 
on current affairs, it would not be safe to 
regard the influence as other than temporary. 
Mr Austen Chamberlain sup- 
plies perhaps the most striking 
example in the present House 
of the embarrassment of a young 
member whose father stands in the front 
rank of House of Commons' debaters. On 
the Second Reading of the Home Rule Bill 
the member for East Worcestershire delivered 





a maiden speech that, for any other young 
member, would have established a Parlia- 
mentary position. Mr, Gladstone, with keen 
appreciation of the peculiar personal circum- 
stances of the case, described it as "a 
speech dear and refreshing to a father's 
heart" If the father in question had hap- 
pened to be engaged, at whatever point of 
eminence, in some other walk of life — say, 
science, art, or literature— it would have been 
well for the new member, complimented 
by this high authority^ and cheered by the 
general good-will displayed towards him by a 
crowded House. 

The speech was in every way excellent. 
Mr Austen Chamberlain has a good presence, 
a recommendation which Lord John Russell 
managed to dispense with, 
but which is nevertheless 
desirable. He has a 
pleasant voice, excellent 
delivery, and really had 
something to say. But 
close by him as he spoke 
sat his father, and what 
critics said was, not that 
the young member for East 
Worcestershire had made 
a notable maiden speech, 
but that his voice was 
singularly like his father's^ 
the manner of speech 
almost identical, and that 
he much resembled him in 
face, only that he was per- 
haps better looking — this 
last being the solitary ap- 
proval personal to the 
debutant that was forth- 
coming. Worse than all, 
as indicating the hopeless- 
ness of the situation, it was more than hinted 
that the best things which sparkled in the 
speech were contributions from the paternal 
store. The voice might be the voice of 
Austen. The polished antitheses, the 
piercing darts, the weighty arguments, were 
from the armoury of Joseph* 

This is scarcely any the less unimportant 
because it does not happen to be true, Mr, 
Austen Chamberlain's speech, like the grace 
of its delivery, was his own ; but that is 
of no matter if the House of Commons 
insists upon thinking otherwise, " Why drag 
in Velasquez?" Mr. James Whistler asked, 
when a gushing lady insisted upon telling 
him that he and Velasquez were the greatest 
painters of this or any age. "Why drag in 
my father ? ll the member in the position of 


history is 



capable young men like Mr. Herbert Glad- 
stone and Mr, Austen Chamberlain may 
reasonably ask* But the protest will be 
in vain, and the dragging-in process will 
instinctively and inevitably follow whenever 
they ehance to take prominent part in the 
proceedings of the House* 

In Mr Patchett Martin's " Life of 
Lord Sherbrooke," just issued, 
I find the following passage : 
" Much as he bewailed the signs 
of democracy in the House of Commons, 
Mr Lowe grew tolerant as the years passed 
by, and regarded legislative folly and dulness 
with an amused smile. It was in this mood 
that he pointed to the deaf M.P. who used 
to skirmish all over the House with an ear- 
trumpet, listening to the 
dreary speeches on both 
sides. ' Good Heavens ! p 
said he, * to think of a 
man so throwing away his 
natural advantages,' " 

The Story will be familiar 
to the public, since there 
was scarcely an obituary 
notice in the newspapers 
published immediately after 
the death of Lord Sher- 
brooke which did not 
include it. I did not take 
notice of that method of 
enshrining a myth, but 
when it comes to making 
part of a serious book, 
written avowedly upon 
special authority j I am 
impelled to unbosom my- 

The fact is, Mr. Lowe 
is as innocent of this little 
Sel borne. One night in 
he had gone to the House 
of Lords, the keen debater whom we long 
knew in the Commons as Mr. Lowe re-visited 
the glimpses of the gas-lit roof in the Com- 
mons. As he sat in the gallery, blinking 
on the old familiar scene, Mr* Thornasson, 
then member for Bolton, happened to be 
sitting, ear-trumpet in hand, listening to 
the late Mr, Peter Rylands making one of 
his not infrequent speeches, Mr. Rylands 
was an estimable, well-meaning man, but not 
specially acceptable as a speaker. He had 
a loudly verbose way of saying nothing 
particular which irritated the sensitive mind, 
and used to render Mr. Lowe more than 
usually impatient Mr, Thornasson had a 
way of flittQgqifftaal fitarriHouse (much as an 


jape as is 
the Session 




non. baronet in the present Parliament has), 
and was wont to sit down drinking in, through 
his ear-trumpet, words that the ordinary 
person would willingly have let die. 

It struck me at the moment that Lord 
Sherbrooke might be thinking, as in truth I 
was myself, of the pandering with Providence 
displayed by a deaf man put- 
ting himself to some Incon- 
venience in order not to lose a 
word of one of Peter Rylands's 
harangues. In a London Letter 
to the provinces I was then con- 
tributing I put in Lord Sher- 
brooke's mouth the phrase quoted 

— a fashion habitually and sometimes less 
reasonably adopted at the present time in the 
writing of " Toby's Diary " in Pumh. It took 
on immensely, largely because it was sup- 
posed to be Lord Sherbrooke's. It has since 
been quoted so widely and frequently that it 
is not impossible Lord Sherbrooke may 
have come to believe he had 
really said it, just as King 
George, by dint of frequent 
repetitions, convinced himself 
that he had led a regi- 
ment in the last charge at 
Waterloo, But his memory is 
really free from the reproach, 


{The original drawings ef the illustration* in this Magazine are always on vitw, and en sale, m ike Art 
GalUry at fhtse offices \ which is open to the public without charge.] 

by Google 

Original from 

By J- Laurence Hornibrook. 

OCTOR," said the sick 
woman, with sudden eager- 
ness, turning her wasted, 
bloodless face towards him t 
" how long have I to live ? " 
"Tut, tut, we're not 
going to talk of dying just yet," he replied, 
evasively, as he held up a small phial to the 
light, and let the liquid trickle slowly into a 
glass. " You mustn't give way like this, you 
know. It does no earthly good Keep up a 

stouter heart, and you may pull through it all 


41 No," she answered, calmly, "I'm dying, 
and you know it ! My time is short — you 
need not shake your head — this is my last 
night on earth. You'll mc Fm not mistaken ; 
I feel that death is near. And to tell the 
truth," she added, with a bitter smile, " I 
wouldn't have it otherwise, even if I was 
given the choice ! " 

She lay back wearily, and closed her eyes, 







The doctor made no further effort to dispel 
her gloomy forebodings ; perhaps in his 
heart he knew that she had spoken the truth. 
He looked around the bare, comfortless 
room in search of a water-jug. 

u What sound is that?" inquired the 
woman, after a long pause, opening wide 
her large dark eyes, that glowed with a 
preternatural brightness, " Music ! A band, 
isn't it ? " 

u Yes ; it is the band of Radford's Circus* 
They're having a grand performance to-night. 
Somebody's benefit, I believe-" 

* 4 Ahi" 

She bent her head 
to catch the faint, 
fluctuating strains of the 
band. As she listened, 
a strange, restless, half- 
startled look came into 
her face ; it almost 
seemed as if the sound 
called up memories — 
dark and bitter memories 
—of the past, 

u Doctor," she said, at 
length, "I want you to 
do me a favour. It is 
the first I have asked, 
and It will be the last 
Would you go down to 
that circus presently, 
and look for the ring- 
master, Gilbert Ferris? 
You'll find him some- 
where about the place ; 
you can't mistake him— 
a tall, fine-looking man, 
with honest grey eyes> 
and a pleasant face. 
Tell him I must see 
him to-night; tell him 
I'm dying, and have 
something on my mind 
that must be told. But 
wait What o'clock is 
it now? Only nine? The performance 
won't be over for an hour yet, and he may be 
too late, after all. Sit down here, Doctor, 
and I'll tell you the story, while I have 
strength enough left." 

" Very well/* he replied. " But let me 
see you swallow off this first.'' 

She stretched out her white, trembling 
hand for the glass, and gulped down the 
nauseous mixture, 

"That's right," said the doctor, approvingly. 
t£ Now for your story." 

"Twelve months ago," she began, " I had 


the ill-luck to fall in with that very circus. 
I was brought up to the life, you know 
— had been on the ropes ever since I 
was a child, and even then I was con- 
sidered no bad acrobat. I and another 
girl — ' Uz ' we used to call her — were both 
engaged at the same time by Mr* Rad- 
ford's manager. We were to perform 
together on the trapeze, Liz was a merry, 
saucy, wilful little thing ; pretty enough, 
as far as that w T ent, but too fond of admira-. 
tion. On the trapeze she was a regular 
little dare-devil; didn't seem to care what 
risks she ran, and took 
a delight in scaring the 
/> people below with her 

/ foolhardy tricks. 

/ (( She and I were 

/ never the best of 

friends; we didn't pull 
well together, somehow. 
She thought me too 
silent and stand-off, I 
suppose, and I — well, I 
have told you my 
opinion of her* I may 
have been a bit jealous 
of her popularity, too, 
for she was all the rage 
just then. For a time 
we contented ourselves 
with trying to out-rival 
each other on the 
trapeze. But very soon 
we got to be rivals in 
another sense, and in a 
way that widened the 
breach between us. We 
both fell in love, and 
both loved the same 
man— Gilbert Ferris ! 

" Her's was a light, 
thoughtless sort of love, 
all on the surface, while 
mine was hidden deep 
down in the darkest 
corner of my heart. She took no pains 
to conceal her fondness for him, but no 
power on earth could have torn such 
an admission from me, She threw her- 
self in his way. I shunned him. And 
yet, her love was mere child's play com- 
pared to mine ; if he had been out 
of her sight, a month — a week — might have 
cured her of it She had a dozen other 
things to occupy her thoughts ; I had but the 
one, and I nourished it and brooded over it 
in secret, until it seemed to become a part of 
my very life. I loved him though he was 




cold and distant to me t and — God help me I 
— I love him still ! J1 

She broke down here, and wept silently for 
a minute or two. Then she went on :-- 

"Of course, in a case like this, neither of 
us remained long in ignorance of the other's 
secret. Liz saw into my heart quickly 
enough, just as I had seen into hers. We 
said nothing, but from that hour a bitter 
enmity sprang up between us, all the more 
intense because it was never allowed to vent 
itself in the smallest way. To see us go 
through our performances, one would think 
\vt wi;tv the best of friends — almost sisters, 
in fact Night after night, we came out 
together into the ring, smiling and curtsying, 
We were always greeted with a burst of 
applause, which often lasted until we had got 
right to the top of the immense building. I 
sometimes wondered what the people would 
have thought if they had seen the black looks 
that passed between us up there, and knew 
the stifled hatred that raged in each heart ! 

" I am not sure if Mr, Ferris ever saw how 
matters stood. I rather fancy he had some 
inkling of the truth. As I have said, his 
treatment of me was cold and formal, though 
he was considerate enough in other ways. But 
with Liz his manner was altogether different 
He chatted and laughed with her, teased her 

about her admirers, and seemed never to tire 
of her company. They never appeared to 
notice me as I stood in the background and 
watched them. How I pined for one of 
those smiles ! How my heart yearned for a 
few gentle words ! But, pine or yearn as I 
might, I knew that coldness and indifference 
would be my lot as long as she was at hand. 
This thought made me hate her the more, 
and I longed to get rid of her. If only some 
chance — some lucky accident — would deprive 
me of my rival, then 1 might hope to win 
some small share of his regard, 

"One night — it was towards the close of 
the season — we were to have a special per- 
formance, patronized by the colonel and 
officers of the garrison. People began to 
collect early, and we had a crowded house. 
The officers dropped in after mess, just before 
it came to our turn to come on, 

" When we stepped out from our dressing- 
room, Mr. Ferris took Liz by the hand and 
led her into the ring. He looked down at 
her with a smile, and said something that 
made h^r glance up at him in her pert, 
laughing way. The sight maddened me ! 
For a moment I thought of turning back, 
and refusing to take part in the performance. 
Then I hurried forward, but it was in a 
fierce, reckless mood, that made my limbs 

- *HE LET* HER rNTO THE Rl WG,"Q^j Q j p 3 | f fQ ff| 


.* 1W. 



shake and drove all trace of smiles from my 
face. Come what might, I would have it out 
with that girl, sooner or later. 
* " Now, as it so happened, Liz had struck 
against having the net under us on this par- 
ticular night. Mr. Ferris wouldn't hear of it 
at first, but she pouted and sulked, and 
declared she wouldn't go up unless she was 
allowed to have her way. He didn't well 
know what to do ; he felt sure she would 
keep her word — for she was an obstinate 
little thing — and it would cause a hitch in 
the whole performance. He talked, argued, 
and coaxed ; but it was no good, he had 
to give in. After all, there wasn't much 
danger, for we had gone through the same 
thing scores of times without an accident of 
any kind. 

" Our performance always ended up with 
a grand feat on the flying trapeze. I dare- 
say you have seen something like it in other 
places. I hung head downwards at one end 
of the building, and Liz took up a position 
right away at the other side. The trapeze, 
which was hanging in the centre of the space 
between us, was then drawn up towards her. 
She grasped it in both hands, leaped out 
into the air, and swung across towards me. 
When she got as far as it would carry her, 
she let go her hold, turned a somersault, 
and dropped down upon me with out- 
stretched hands. I caught her by the wrists. 
The people held their breath until they saw 
her safe ; then the silence was broken by a 
wild outburst of applause, in the midst of 
which Liz slid down a rope to the ground, 
and I followed. 

" We had got through the first part of our 
programme all right, and were preparing for 
our grand wind-up feat. Liz was already at 
her post As I lowered myself into the 
proper position, I could see her white figure 
far away above me, right at the roof of the 
building. She was never in a hurry to jump 
off ; she liked to stand there and watch the 
hundreds of eager faces gazing up at her. 
She seemed to take a childish delight in 
the fixed stare, the gaping mouths, and the 
breathless impatience of the crowds below. 

"That night she held back longer than 
usual. She shifted her feet about, made one 
or two false motions as if on the point of 
swinging off, and then stood still again. She 
was trying to make believe that she was 
frightened, and half-afraid of the venture. 
But it was all pretence, of course ; there was 
a smile on her face the whole time, and she 
was as sure of herself then as on every pre- 
vious occasion. 

VoL vL-IQ. 

" Suddenly, as I watched her, the thought 
sprang up in my mind — or it seemed as if 
the words were whispered into my ear — 
1 How easy it would be to miss her ! ' A 
second or two would do it ; to pull myself up 
a few inches would send her flying past me ! 
And there was nothing below to break her 
fall ! 

" I did not come to a decision then and 
there ; I only wavered. But the thought was 
still in my mind, and I made no effort to get 
rid of it A hundred times in that short 
pause the devil within me repeated those 
words — * How easy it would be to miss her ! ' 
Then a smothered exclamation from the 
crowd below warned me that she was off, and 
I prepared to catch her as usual. 

" Sir, I tell you — I swear to you — that not 
until she had swung right across, not until 
she had turned the somersault and was 
dropping down towards me, was my mind 
made up. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, 
the question was settled, and — oh, my God 1 
— it was settled against her ! I let her fall ! 

"I heard the rush of her body through 
the air, I heard the horrid thud on the ground 
below, and the wild uproar that arose on 
every side. I felt faint and giddy — I wonder 
I didn't tumble down after her — but I 
managed to drag myself up to the bar from 
which I hung. As I sat there, clinging on to 
the ropes, I gave one glance below. The 
lights danced before my eyes, the tiers of 
white faces looked blurred and dim, but I 
could see Mr. Ferris and the ring men 
grouped around the white form on the 
ground. Then a gentleman in evening dress 
— a doctor, I suppose — sprang into the ring, 
and hurried towards the spot I put my 
hand up to my face to shut out the sight 

" How I got down, I don't know. All I 
can remember is, that as I tottered away out 
of the ring, I saw them place the lifeless body 
on a board. Nobody seemed to notice me ; 
I was allowed to pass out without a word. 
The moment I reached the dressing-room, I 
fell in a dead faint on the floor. 

11 For two whole days I kept to my room. 
You can have little idea of the agony I 
suffered in that short time ! Many a year of 
my life has seemed to pass quicker than one 
of those days. I don't think I either ate or 
slept during those forty-eight terrible hours ; 
at least, I have no recollection of doing so. 
It was one long, unbroken spell of anguish 
and remorse ! I had longed to get rid of that 
girl, and now that she was gone, what had I 
gained? What advantage had my crime 
brought ip|(?;|]None whatever. Oh, if I had 



only seen things in the same light before the moaning and brooding over the past All 

wrong was done as I saw them afterwards ! my sorrow and repentance couldn't recall that 

" On the third day I plucked up heart a awful deed, or bring Liz back to life again. 



little, and began to bestir myself. There was 1 might as well, put a bold face upon it, and 
no use in sitting there from morning till night, see what ivai* in store for me* 



"Late in the afternoon I went down to 
the circus, I half hoped, and yet I feared, 
to meet Mr. Ferris. More than once I 
thought of turning back, but I felt that I 
must go on and learn my fate. I passed in 
unnoticed, and made my way along the 
gloomy passages without coming across a 

41 When I got inside, the sight of the great 
empty space before me sent a cold chill 
through me. I was so accustomed to the 
blaze of lights^ the loud music of the band, 

crouched close into the band-stand, trem^ 
blingwkh doubt and fear. He looked at me 
long and steadily— and, oh ! what a look 
that was ! Then, without a word, he turned 
on his heel and walked away, I think he 
must have partly guessed the truth. 

" If he had cursed me, struck me — aye, 
even stabbed me ! — I could have borne it ; 
I could have gone on my knees and kissed 
his hand ! But that look — that look of 
loathing and contempt — struck home to 
my very heart [ I knew it was my 



and the throng of eager spectators, that 
I shuddered as I looked around the 
bare, deserted building, The silence was 
awful ! 

41 Suddenly my eyes fell upon the figure of 
a man. He was standing with one foot on 
the rail that surrounded the track — his 
elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand 
— gazing sadly into the ring. My heart gave 
a wild throb ; it was Gilbert Ferris ! 

" I must have made some hasty move- 
ment, for he turned round sharply. I 

death sentence ; I felt it would kill me 
sooner or later. And it has nearly done so 
already ! 

"I managed to get through the inquest 
without suspicion. But I didn't much care 
how the matter went; it wouldn't have 
troubled me if I had been arrested and tried 
for murder. When all was over, I went and 
joined a wretched travelling circus. My 
health soon broke down, and I came back 
here to die ^rcjmal from 

mm®Bmwm&m* The effort of 

7 6 


recalling those terrible scenes had completely 
exhausted the unfortunate creature. She 
closed her eyes, and lay perfectly still. She 
did not even wait to see the impression her 
story had made upon her companion; it 
seemed as if she was wholly indifferent to all 
that now. 

" It must be getting late, Doctor," she 
said, presently, in a low, feeble voice. 
11 Perhaps you had better go at once ; 
there's not much time to lose." 

He rose in silence, took his hat, and stole 
out of the room. In twenty minutes or so 
he climbed the stairs again, followed by 
Gilbert Ferris. As the two men entered, the 
woman raised her head languidly, and gazed 
at them with dull, vacant eyes. Suddenly 
the expression changed to a look of joyful 
recognition. She held out her hands, gave 
a short, sharp cry, and dropped heavily back 
upon the pillow. 

She was dead ! 

by Google 

Original from 

Beauties :■ — Children, 


'bv £awy«i% 



Photo, by Bi&ti * Son*, R&mt Stt^L 

I>h«i». to m n. /'it, 


Sk\ Cice ly for &\er/ 



From a Fhotoprnph. 


by GG'©gR? , " ,,, 

N§m Bond JttncL 


Illustrated Interviews. 


r NE feels all the better after 
spending a day with Mr. 
Kdmund Yates. A stay at 
Brighton —where he lives in 
Eaton Gardens — is conducive 
to good health ; a talk with the 

past master of his art is an incentive to excellent 

spirits. Mr. Yates by no means reserves all 

his wit for his pen* He dispenses it amongst 

his visitors even mare freely than he does 

on his sheets of foolscap. He jocularly hits 

and cuts him- 
self a bo tit. Few 

men make 

merry over the 

troubles which 

have played 

havoc with 

their own par- 
ticular personal 

u / make a 

good picture," 

says every man 

inwardly, with 

a decided em- 
phasis on the 

"I," when he 

faces the 

camera. But 

Edmund Yates 

sums up his 


ness at 


11 sitting" 



is the 
first time I have 
been photo- 
graphed since 1 
only weighed 
thirteen stone ! 
Merriment is 

ffapm el Photo, by ] 

RDM UN 63 VAT&5, 

I used to weigh sixteen I " 
an excellent medicine and 
good humour an incomparable tonic* But 
there is a limit to its doses, and during the 
time I was with Mr. Yates I found a strongly- 
marked serious side to his disposition. It 
was a sympathetic seriousness, and it seemed 
tr> lie in one direction. It came when 
looking back and remembering those whose 
names are world-famous and who were his 
dearest friends. The quietude of his home 

seemed more impressive as he sat looking 
over a volume of 1 >iekens's letters, For some 
moments he turned over the pages without 
speaking, and then as though suddenly 
remembering I was in the room- closed the 
book hurriedly and exclaimed: " Now, how 
are we getting on?'* This action revealed 

In appearance Mr. Yates is decidedly dis- 
tinguished-looking tall and perfectly erect 
His face has much altered since the time 

when Alfred 
Bryan used to 
picture him at 
dinners — and 
what a run 
there was on 
Edmund Yates 
for a speech ! 
It always re- 
minded one of 
a specially im- 
ported sun- 
beam. His face 
is much thinner 
now, and he 
has grown a 
beard. But his 
eyes twinkle as 
much as ever, 
are the 
im a gin- 
He may 
smile when tell- 
ing you of 
some sorrow. 
He doesn't 
want you to 
know he feels 
it — but his eyes 
speak the truth. 
He talks very quietly and has a delight- 
fully mellow voice — at once distinct and 
enjoyable to the listener, and a marked 
characteristic about him is to speak ill of no 
man, past or present. 

He met me at the door. There was a real 
Brighton sun shining that day, and it sent its 
beams through the stained glass windows of 
the fine hall. The sunshine seemed to single 
out a picture of 4 Xellie —a curious omen, 
for, likU Nt*iERoiiS;i Ekffn^^ilH iVjrftH^ is passitn- 


[ A'Ni'jtf * Frg. 



Frtjm b Pirturt fcyj 


ately fond of all animals in general, and dogs 
in particular. "Nellie M has been dead some 
time, but Ashby S terry wrote a poem on her. 
A very simple story* Mr. Yates was at the 
Dogs* Home one day + " Nellie ,J stood up on 
her hind legs and looked so pitiful that he 
bought her. " From that day until her death, 
nine years afterwards* in the summer of 
1887," said Mr. Yates, " she would sleep in no 
other place than on my bed, or on a sofa in 
the room. That is 'Tatters ,M — pointing 
to a small canvas by Sir Henry Thompson. 

"He was a 
diminutive blue 
Skye terrier — and 
Sir Henry painted 
him in the act of 
devouring a box 
ticket w T hich 
Sothern sent my 
wife for the theatre. 
I hope the box 
agreed with him ! 
It was rather in- 
convenient, to say 
the least of it, for 
Sothern, in his 
merry way, said 
that if we wanted 
to go to the theatre 
we should have to 
present the dog at 
the box-office, as 
he carried the 
order ! " 

There are several 
Vol. vi. -it. 

good pictures in the 
hall, including 
"Gipsy 13 and "The 
Slut/' two favourite 
horses of Mr. Yates, 
now dead. 

To the right and 
left of the hall are 
the drawing - room 
and Mrs. Yates's 
room, As we enter 
the latter I am re- 
minded that Mr. 
Yates was married in 
April of 1S53, before 
he had arrived at 
his twenty - second 
birthday, He is not 
an opponent of early 
marriages, judging by 
the dedication of his 
volume of "Remi- 
niscences," lying on 
a table near the window, which is inscribed:— 

To My Wife 1 

My Constant Companion, My Wisest Counsellor, 

My Best Friend : 

This Book is Dedicated, 

Mrs. Yates possesses a weakness, and cul- 
tivates it Flowers I Hence the small 
tables are crowded with blossoms, and the 
corners of the room are hidden by them. 
Flowers and pictures harmonize* Imme- 
diately over the mantelpiece is Storey's 
portrait of Mrs- Yates, whilst on an easel 

{Sir Henry Thamiawk. 

i-rimi a S'hato. btt\ 

I JTL7 \i\\ rVii'tnjbJH* 

[EttvAt il- ft?. 



rests a pencil drawing of the same subject by 
Yal Prinsep, R.A. The etchings are numerous 
—that of "Old Marlow Ferry," after Fred 
Walker, is a gem, and serves to remind its 
owners of the summer months which are 
invariably spent up the river. The drawing- 
room, whilst finding a place for many trea- 
sured works of art, is particularly noticeable 
for its many fine tditiom de luxe of popular 
writers- In a fine old Chippendale cabinet 
one may turn over the pages of Thackeray, 
George Eliot, Fielding, and, of course, Dickens, 
There are some exquisite screens in this 
apartment, and the china and porcelain knick- 
knacks are scattered about in delightfully 
negligent profusion. 

The dining-room looks out on to the lawn. 
It is a room which savours of hospitality and 
excellent company. Huge boxes of ivy fill 
the windows, and the birds come and provide 
the music at lunch whilst they trip to their 
own tunes on the twigs and branches. A" 
large portrait of Mr, Yates's father is over the 
mantel-board, and the walls are hung with 
engravings after Briton Riviere, Birket 
Foster, MacWhirter, A, Ludovici, jun., 
Poynter, Rosa Bonheur, Edwin Long, S. E* 
Waller, Heffner, and others. 

Up to now our walk through the house 
has been rather suggestive of the host, but 
the opening of a door leading from the 
dining-room immediately gives the first clue 
to the past work-a-day associations of the 
brilliant writer, It is a small, square apart- 
ment, and a carved ebony tablet is set 
against the wall 
on which is 
written : "The 
Gad's Hill 
Hogarths, from 
the collection of 
C D., 1879." 
These Hogarths-- 
which many con- 
noisseurs consider 
the finest speci- 
mens existing — 
used to hang on 
the staircase at 
(lad's Hill, and 
after Dickens's 
death they found 
a place in the 
billiard - room. 
Eventually Mr. 
Yates bought 

iv One moment," 
says Mr. Yates, He 

returned quickly with a handsomely-bound 
volume, and quietly opening the book the 
fly-leaf revealed the following inscription ; — 

A Selection fhom the Letters of 
Charles Dickens to Edmund Yates. 


I weep a lo£3 for ever new f 

A void where heart 011 heart repo&ed ; 

And, where warm hands have prcst and closed, 

Silence, till I be silent too, 

I weep the comrade of my choice, 
An awful thought, a life removed, 
The human -hearted man I loved, 
A spirit, not a breathing voice, 

— In Mem&Ham* 

We went through the book together How 
characteristic was every single letter ! His 
first letter to Mr. Yates began, " My dear 
sir," and then came the gradual growth of 
friendship's greeting with " My dear Mr. 
Yates," " My dear Yates," u My dear 
Edmund/ 7 and the last note but one com- 
mencing, *' Dear E. Y." 

*' Dickens was godfather to one of my 
boys, who was a twin," said Mr. Yates, 
li Isn't this note thoroughly characteristic of 
him? It came in response to mine asking 
him to be godfather." 

The note ran :— 

* ( Paris, 49, Avenue des Champs Elys^es, 
"Wednesday, Second January, 1856. 

'* My Dear Yates, — Supposing both Cor- 
sican Brothers to be available, I think I 
should prefer being godfather to the one 
who isn't Kean. With this solitary stipula* 



tion, I very cordially respond to your pro- 
posal, and am happy to take my friendly and 
sponsorial seat at your fireside." 

Mr. Yates's mind wandered back to the 
place at Gad's Hill He had cause to 
remember its one-time occupant, for who 
could have proved himself a better, a kinder 
friend than the great novelist to the then 
young journalist when, perhaps, the most 
critical chapter of his life came ? But of the 
Thackeray incident — later, It was pleasant 
to listen to some new Dickensonia. How he 
was constantly quoting nis own characters, 
acting them out during those Sunday even- 
ing walks they had together, and often giving 
point to a sentence by saying: "As Mr. 
Sikes might have remarked," or, "As Mr, 
Mieawber would probably have observed if 

" Dickens always used to say/' Mr 
Yates remarked, " when a person, theatrical, 
literary, or otherwise, was talked about as 
coming out, 'Yes, it is easy enough to 
come out — the difficulty is to keep out ! ' 
He was always very anxious 
to have an opportunity of 
sleeping in a haunted 
house. Indeed, his pet 
subjects were ghosts and 
haunted houses, I well 
remember making one of 
a little party — including 
the dear man himself and 
Mr, W. H, Wills, not for 
getting ' Turk,' a big dog 
and a great favourite of 
Dickens— constituted for 
the purpose of spending a 
night in a house that was 
reputed to be haunted; 
but it turned out a failure^ 
and proved a great dis- 
appointment. Our last out- 
ing together was about 
two months before his 
death, when we together 
went to a circus and saw 
a performing elephant He 
positively revelled in a 
circus and a cheap theatre, 
and often fidgeted in his 
seat in expectancy when 
some very bad actor was 
playing and seemed likely 
to forget his part He 
would have been a great 
actor had he not been a 
great novelist" 

The real Dickens's 
comer of the house, 

however, may be said to be the bedroom. 
On the landing outside is a portrait of Sir 
Rowland Hill — its present possessor's old 
chief — and a bust of Mrs, Yates by Alexander 
Monroe, "Dickens's Comer " is opposite the 
window of the bedroom. Here hang the 
last portrait of him ever taken, and another, 
( * Charles Dickens to Edmund Yates, 7th 
February, 1859/ A family group of the 
( * Dickens Family " at the porch, Gad's Hill, 
is eminently interesting. Gathered together wc 
see Dickens himself, with Miss Mamie Dickens, 
Miss Kate Dickens {Mrs. Perugini), Miss 
Hogarth (his sister-in-law, to whom he re- 
ferred in his will as "the best and truest friend 
man ever had "), Charles Collins, and Henry 
F. Chorley. Portraits abound here — a sketch 
by Frith of Edmund Yates in 1862, a 
delightful miniature of" his mother, and an 
engraving of his father, Mr. Yates soon after 
his marriage, with his wife and eldest son 
(now Major Yates), an autographed portrait of 
Robert Browning, a group of Mr, Yates's 





quartette of sons, and a quaint drawing of 
George IV. M doing the front " at Brighton. 

Albert Smith, with his autograph, has a 
prominent place. 

" He died on Derby Day, the great cockney 
carnival, which he had 
so often described," said 
Mr, Yates. " He was a 
dear friend ; he intro- 
duced trie to my wife, 
and was best man at the 
wedding. It was at his 
door — poo r f e llo w —after 
leaving his widow, that 
I met the clergyman 
who had married them 
twelve months before, 
the Rev. J. M, Bellew, 
the father of Mr. Kyrle 
Bellew, the actor. That 
is his portrait. Beliew 
read the church service 
better than any man I 
have ever heard, but the 
way in which he read 
the commandments was 
really very humorous. 
When he arrived at the 
seventh commandment, 
he would thunder it out 
in terrible tones^ as much as to say, * Its 
for you, and don't you forget it ! r but 
when he came to the eighth, he gave it 
out in a rapid, flippant way — *Thou shalt 
not steal ! ' — as though 
he wished his congrega- 
tion to quite understand 
that it was not intended 
as an insult ! He was 
curiously quaint in many 
ways, though always a 
thorough good fellow. 
He once arranged a 
performance of i Ham- 
let/ in which he sat in 
front whilst the various 
characters were on the 
platform, moving and 
introducing the neces- 
sary action as he gave 
the words. It is impos- 
sible to describe the 
ludicrous muddle every- 
body got into." 

The library, where we 
now repaired, is the 
finest room in the house. 
The passage leading to 
the work-room is lined 

fnwrt n] 

■W R , V A T K-S » M OT H fc K 

with the original cartoons for the Worlds by 
Alfred Bryan. The study is almost square, 
and I regarded as a pleasant though simple 
omen the sight of the vase of flowers on the 
big black oak writing-table from Farnham 
Chase. Dickens nearly 
always had flowers on 
his table when he was 
writing. The flowers are 
by the side of a writing 
slope — an old writing 
slope much worn, but 
very precious. Dickens 
was writing on it an hour 
or two before he died, 
And the inscription 
reads ; " This desk, 
which belonged to 
Charles Dickens and 
was used by him on the 
day of his death, was 
one of the familiar ob- 
jects of his study which 
were ordered by his 
will to be distributed 
amongst those who loved 
him, and was accordingly 
given by his executrix to 
Edmund Yates." 

The fetiches of the 
occupant are several and varied. A Chinaman 
nods his head, a tiny pig looks contemptuously 
on at a larkishly-inclined monkey and a trio < f 
Shem, Ham, and Japhet from the common 
or garden Noah's Ark ! 
They follow their pos- 
sessor about. The room 
contains close upon four 
thousand volumes — in- 
cluding many valuable 
first editions. About 
the walls are etchings of 
Tennyson, Huxley, 
Darwin, Lord Salisbury, 
Mr. Chamberlain, and 

u When I was dra- 
matic critic of the Daily 
Nm% Irving made his 
first appearance in ' Ivy 
HalV " said Mr. Yates. 
He brought a letter of 
introduction from John 
I„ Toole. 

"My Dear Edmund, 
— Mr, Yates — Mr. 
Irving; Mr. Irving — 
Mr Yates 

.UNIV^g^IXOF MKHU&ANbc as good 



to Mr. I. as you 
always have been 
to M Yours, while 


So the letter 

In addition to 
other pictures 
there is the 
original drawing 
for the cover of 
"Time" by Luke 
Fildes, works by 
John Leech, a 
Whistler and 
Linley Sam- 
bourne, and 
"Pellegrini," by 
himself, A mas- 
sive silver bowl 
is engraved: 
"Presented to 
Edmund Yates 
on completing 
three-score years, 
by three - score 
friends and well- 
wbhers t 3rd July, 
1 891." A small 
statuette of 

Thackeray has a place all to itself on a table, 
and the assurance was given that it was " the 
best ever done of him," Ouless's portrait 
of Edmund Yates is in the centre of the 
mantd-board, and amongst the many knick- 
knacks about is Mr Frank Lockwood, 
Q.C. T s, last years Christmas card. A striking 
terra-cotta bust of Voltaire* by Carrier 

Belleuse, has a 
small history dis- 
tinctly its own. 
It was smashed 
into a thousand 
pieces by a care- 
less servant* 
Every fragment 
was collected — 
sent across to 
Paris from 
whence it came 
in 1878 — and in 
a month's time 
it came back as 
it is now 1 

" Fine picture, 
that of Fred 
Burnaby, eh?" 
Mr. Yates re- 
marked, as we 
stood for a 
moment looking 
at a striking por- 
trait of the gallant 
colonel who lived 
and died in har- 
ness. "We used 
to chaff very 
much about a 
day or two he spent with us. He was just 
falling in love, and about to stand for 
Birmingham. He came to spend Saturday 
till Monday with us, at our house, The 
Temple^ near Goring-on -Thames. On the 
Sunday we went on a launch excursion ; but 
Burnaby was much preoccupied, and kept 
referring to two different papers which he had 


/>'•■.'." fltt] 

UHlViRSfflT-Qf IWCHlftW— 

Lit£Oftr;E iv. at Bftir;iiTQN + 




in his jacket pocket We 
found out, afterwards, that 
one was a letter from his 
fiancee^ and the other a draft 
of a political speech which 
he was about to deliver that 
week, and we told him that 
he would most likely get 
mixed over the two — spout 
out to his electors the 
sweetest portions of his 
love-letter, and declare to the 
lady his unalterable attach- 
ment to the Constitution ! " 

We sat down by the black 
oak writing-table. 

The conversation of Mr. 
Yates is as pleasant as his 
writings. He reviews, so to 
speak, his own life with the 
same delicacy which has been so characteristic 
of the pen that has travelled many miles on 
behalf of the lighter branches of literature, 
which Mr. Yates has done so much to 
father. He has done excellent work, honest 
work , work worthy of high eulogium ; but its 
author refers to it very simply. " My name 
is Yates, Edmund Yates/ 5 he almost says ; 
" and if anybody likes to tack any kind 
words on to that name, well, so much the 
happier for me." He is essentially a modest 
man. He works hard, but not so hard as he 
did a year or two ago. He likes to talk and 
walk, and gets through much by dicta- 
tion. Would 
strongly advise 
this to those 
young men who 
aim at being 
good speakers. 
He is an early 
riser. The busiest 
day of the week 
with him is Mon- 
day—the day on 
which the World 
goes to press. 
This calls him to 
town, and he 
rarely leaves his 
paper until it is 
fairly well on its 
way to the 
machines* He 
has a remarkable 
memory, and fre- 
quently wires a 
full - stop, or a 
comma, or a 


semi - colon to the office 
when on his way home on 
press nights, should he think 
such would improve a 
sentence or make its mean- 
ing more apparent ! Save 
w T hen he is abroad, he reads 
every line that appears in the 
pages of his paper. 

He loves old faces as 
he does old memories — 
be they either of a business 
or domestic nature. The 
publisher of the first number 
of the World — which has 
been established nearly 
twenty years —occupies that 
position to-day ; whilst as 
for Spencer, his coachman, 
he has been in his employ 
last Good Friday, and was 
the fact by the presentation 
A distinct trait in his 

twenty years 

reminded of 

of a watch and chain 

character is that he is the first to give credit 

to a man who has truly earned it. It is not 

much, perhaps, to hear a man say to you in 

referring to his secretary : "Splendid fellow 

—knows where to find everything/' but it's 

the " Knows where to find everything " that 

does it 

Little Edmund was born on the 3rd July, 
18315 at Edinburgh, and his early years were 
passed in the somewhat close atmosphere of 
the theatre. Both his parents were members of 

the theatrical pro- 
fession. His 
father— Frederick 
Henry Yates — 
was a very emi- 
nent comedian 
of his day, and 
it was whilst ful- 
filling an engage- 
merit in the 
Scotch capital 
that Mrs. Yates 
brought a small 
son into the 
world, The 
engag^men t 
over, the latest 
addition to the 
Yates family was 
brought to Lon- 
don, and christ- 
ened with due 
ceremony at 




" We used to live over the 
old Adelphi Theatre," he 
said, ** and I was never 
allowed to go into the 
theatre, but there was a long 
staircase which connected 
the dwelling part with the 
public lobby, and I would 
often creep down there un- 
observed and listen to the 
talk in the boxes and pit 
The lights and dresses and 
dancers used to bewilder me. 
It was at the Old Adelphi 
one night that a cry of 
6 Fire 3 was heard from the 
streets, and I was taken 
out of my little crib and held up to see the 
heavens lit up. I saw the glare caused by 
the Royal Exchange and Tower of London 
being on fire. At the time of the riots in 
Canada, I remember seeing the Foot Guards 
marched through the streets. Whether my 
father felt the honour of possessing me I do 
not know, but he used to delight in taking 
me by the hand and allowing me to accom- 
pany him through the streets. 

"In this way I met the Duke of Wellington, 
who addressed my father with * How do, 
Yates ? J 
same day 



we met 
Dan O'Connell." 

It was his aunt 
Eliza who taught 
young Edmund his 
ABC; the printer 
of the theatre, who 
evinced a keen 
interest in his wel- 
fare, having cut him 
out a set, which 
used to be placed 
on the floor, and 
Edmund would 
walk round like the 
little trained poodle 
at the circus and 
pick them out At 
five yeftrs of age he 
went to a prepara- 
tory school at High- 
gate, and at nine 
was located at 
Highgate Grammar School, where his head- 
master was the Rev. Prebendary Dyne, who 
is still alive and resident at Rogate, near 
Peters field. 

" Amongst my schoolfellows," he continued, 
"were Richard and Slingsby Bethell and Philip 

Worsley, who translated the 
* Iliad ' and ' Odyssey, J and 
many other famous fellows, 
I was not what you might 
call a studious boy. I culti- 
vated that very bad habit of 
smuggling pieces of candle 
in order that I might sit up 
and devour the contents of 
a small library of somewhat 
sensational literature — litera- 
ture calculated to raise hair 
on a brass door-knob, I 
liked cricket, and was ad- 
dicted to borrowing other 
boys' ponies promiscuously 
and exercising them for my 
own particular benefit I remained there 
until I was fourteen or fifteen, and then went 
to Diisseldorf. I had been there but a few 
months when my mother sent for me, saying 
that Lord Clanricarde had been appointed 
Postmaster-General and I was to come home," 
It meant that instead of going into the 
Church, as originally intended, Edmund 
Yates s at the age of sixteen, on the 1 ith March, 
1847, entered the Missing Letter Department 
of St. Martin's-le-Grand t and remained there 
for exactly five-and-twenty years. They were 

I Elliott it Frfr 

days of real happiness. Whilst working hard 
at the Post-office he also entered " Bohemia/' 
and obtained a knowledge of men and 
manners attainable by no other means. His 
experiences gathered i in those days, and the 
namisMii 1 |R3plife 'jfcren&kll'would cover many 



Prom « I'tiota. tt<i\ 


pages, but it may be said in a word that he 
was received and welcomed everywhere, not 
only on account of the admirable reputation 
of his father, but more owing to his own 
personal geniality and versatility, 

" I did not want to sit at the Post-office all 
my life/* said Mr. Yates, "and I began to 
look about me for a fresh pasture where fame 
might be gathered It was the reading of 
£ Pendennk * that suggested journalism, and 
my first real effort was a set of verses— the 
idea for which came as I sat in the family 
pew in church! — which were accepted by 
Mr, Harrison Ains worth, the proprietor and 
editor of AinsworiKs Magazine, My first 
paid engagement was on the Court Journal^ 
at the munificent salary of £\ a- week ! J1 

Work soon began to come in. The 
young author's talent was recognised and his 
pen appreciated and paid for. His hours 
were respectable — ten till four — at the Post- 
office, but they were drawn out into the early 
hours of the morning in his anxiety to 
succeed. His pen was soon employed in all 
the leading newspapers and periodicals of 
the day> and he became dramatic critic 
of the Daily News. His first novel was 
11 Broken to Harness," He was editor of 
Temple Bar at the time, and having failed 
to find an author to write a serial, buckled to 
himself, the result being a work of excellent 
merit— followed by such dramatic productions 
as "Black Sheep," "Wrecked in Port," 
"The Forlorn Hope," etc, It would be 
impossible to give in the scope of this 
paper a detailed list of all Mr. Edmund 

Yates's works -his 
appearances and 
remarkable lec- 
tures on the stage 
and platform — and 
how he came to 
establish the 
World* His idea 
of the conducting 
of that paper always 
was, and always has 
been, that it should 
not be merely a 
light and flippant 
collection of para- 
graphs, but that 
every article in its 
pages should have 
some definite end 
in view — be it 
social or political, 
indeed, of such 
moment are the 
political articles in the columns of the World 
considered, that one may venture to think 
that it was their influence which suggested 
his being selected by the Carlton Club as a 
member. I saw an album — the World 
album — containing the portraits of past and 
present contributors to Mr Yates's organ, I 
promised Mr. Yates not to reveal their 
names, but they are treasure - houses of 
influential information, indeed, 

But all the time 1 was sitting in the study 
at Brighton my mind was constantly running 
on the man whose statuette rested on a table 
immediately before us. It was during a lull 
in the conversation — the faithful Laker, who 
"knows where to find everything/' wanting 
some letters signed — that 1 crossed to the 

\EUuiU 4- y> f 




table and examined the little statuette more 
closely, Edmund Yates looked up. 

11 The finest of all novelists," he said t 
earnestly. "I am an immense worshipper of 
him, and read him over and over again, and 
yet again, A wit— an epigrammatist of the 
first water, I was talking to him once about 
a matter, and the name of a gentleman 
cropped up — very well known in his day, but 
now dead, 'I never saw him/ I said; 4 I 
believe he wrote a book called " Biscuits and 
Grog." ' ' Oh I yes,' he replied ; ' he did. 
Clever fellow — remarkably clever fellow ! 
Pity he's so fond of — biscuits ! ' 

11 How well he sang— I can hear him now, 
How he delighted to listen to Morgan John 
O'Connell, a nephew of the 
Liberator, giving 'The 
Shannon Shore/ " 

We were talking of 
William Makepeace 

Mr. Edmund Vates has 
given in his biography a very 
complete account of the 
following remarkable inci- 
dent, which was unquestion- 
ably a crisis in his career, 
but, as he crossed to the 
table and opening a drawer 
brought forth a small six- 
sheet paper, yellow with 
age, he quietly turned to 
pnge 64 and asked me to 
read what appeared under 
the heading of M Literary 
Talk." This is the article 
which appeared in Tmun 
Talk, Vol, L, No. 6, June 
iz, 1858 :— 

Literary Talk. 
Finding that our pen-and-ink 
portrait of Mr- Charles Dickens has been much 
talked about and extensively quoted, we purpose 
giving, each week, a sketch of some literary celebrity. 
This week our subject is 

Mr. W. M* Thackeray. 


Mr. Thackeray is forty-six years old, though from 
the silvery whiteness of his hair he appears somewhat 
older. He is very tail, standing upwards of six feet 
two inches, and as he walks erect his height makes 
him conspicuous in every assembly, His face is 
bloodless, and not particularly expressive, but remark- 
able for the fracture of the bridge of the nose, the 
result of an accident in youth. He wears a small 
grey whisker, but otherwise is clean shaven. No 
one meeting him could fail to recognise in him a 
gentleman ; his bearing is cold and uninviting, his 
style of conversation either openly cynical, or affectedly 
good-natured and benevolent ; his bonhomie is forced, 
his wit biting, his pride easily touched — but his 
Vol. vi.-12. 

From a BttMt hp Carrier IhUeum, 


appearance is invariably that of the coolj suave, well- 
bred gentleman, who, whatever may be rankling 
within, suffers no suriace display of his emotion. 


For many years Mr. Thackeray, though a prolific 
writer, and holding constant literary employment, 
was unknown by name to the great bulk of the 
public. To Frase^s Afagaztne he was a regular con- 
tributor, and very shortly after the commencement of 
Punchy he joined Mr. Mark Lemon's staff, In the Punch 
pages appeared many of his wisest, most thought- 
ful and wittiest essays ; l * Mr. Brown f s Letters to 
His Nephew " on love, marriage, friendship, choice of 
a club, etc, contain an amount of worldly wisdom 
which, independently of the amusement to be obtained 
from them, render them really valuable reading to 
young men beginning life, The (i Book of Snobs," 
equally perfect in its way, also originally appeared in 
Punch, Here j too, were published his buffooneries, 
his "Ballads of Policeman X," 
his " jeames's Diary,** and some 
other scraps, the mere form of 
which consisted in outrages on 
orthography, and of which he is 
now deservedly ashamed* It was 
with the publication of the third 
or fourth number of Vanity Fair 
that Mr, Thackeray began to 
dawn upon the reading public ft* 
a gTeat genius* The greatest 
work, which, with perhaps the 
exception of " The Ne wcomes," is 
the most perfect literary dissec- 
tion of the human heart, done 
with the cleverest and most un- 
sparing hand, had been offered to 
and rejected by several of the first 
publishers in London. But the 
public saw and recognised its 
value ; the great guns of litera- 
ture, the Quarterly and the Edin- 
burgh, boomed forth their praises, 
the light tirailleurs in the 
monthly and weekly Press re- 
echoed the fiux-de-j&ky and the 
novelist's success was made. 
M Pendcnnis" followed, and was 
equally valued by the literary 
world t but scarcely so popular 
with the public Then came 
if Esmond, which fell almost 
still-born from the Press ; and then "The New- 
comes," perhaps the best of all. l * The Virginians," 
now publishing, though admirably written, lacks 
interest of plot, and is proportionately unsuccessful 


commencing with Vanity Fair, culminated yAih his 
"Lectures on the English Humorists of the Eighteenth 
Century," which were attended by all the Court 
and fashion of London, The prices were ex- 
travagant, the lecturer's adulation of birth and 
position was extravagant, the success was extravagant. 
No one succeeds better than Mr. Thackeray in cutting 
his coat according to his cloth ; here he flattered the 
aristocracy, but when he crossed the Atlantic, George 
Washington became the idol of his worship ; the 
" Four Georges "the objects of his bitterest attacks. 
These last-named lectures have been dead failures in 
England, though as literary compositions they are 
most excellent. Our own opinion is that his success 
is on the wane ; his writings never were understood 


9 o 


or appreciated even by the middle classes ; the aris- 
tocracy have been alienated by his American onslaught 
on their body, and the educated and refined are not 
sufficiently numerous to constitute an audience ; more- 
over, there is want of heart in all he writes, which is 
to be balanced by the most brilliant sarcasm and the 
most perfect knowledge of the workings of the human 

"Town Talk? said Mr. Yates, "was a 
small periodical edited and illustrated by 
Watts Phillips, and I was engaged to write 
for it. The first week's instalment of 
1 Literary Talk* was a sketch of Dickens. You 
must remember I was working at the Post- 
office at the time. I had written my matter 
— enough to fill up, as I thought — when* I 
received a message saying that Mr. Watts 
Phillips had gone and there was a big deficit 
of copy. I must make it up. I rushed 
over to the printers in Aldersgate Street, 
threw off my coat — it was a very hot Saturday 
afternoon — sat down, and without the slightest 
reflection turned out that article. I was not 
twenty-seven then, and had but small notion 
of how little causes often come home to 
bitterly revisit you. 

" Thackeray was very wroth, and was the 
means of gaining my expulsion from the 
Garrick Club. I think it was a cruel thing 
to do, for no personal feeling whatever 

prompted me to write what I did, and it was 
done without the faintest thought I never 
met Thackeray afterwards save once in the 
street, and then somehow we didn't see one 
another. I endeavoured to put the matter 
right more than once, especially when I saw 
the Cornhill Magazine advertised. I sent 
in a set of verses, thinking that Thackeray 
might use them as a little tender towards 
reconciliation, but they came back by the 
next post. 

" Well, let's go for a drive ! " 

So we forgot the troubles of Thackeray 
and the work of him who presides over the 
destinies of the World in our drive along 
" the front." 

" Excellent coachman, Spencer," said Mr. 
Yates, " but an awful fellow for remembering 
names — mixes them up in a world of sub- 
stitution ! I had a horse which I called 
'Taffy,' owing to its having been bred in 
Wales by Mrs. Crawshay. 

" ' Now don't forget, Spencer,' I said, ' his 
name is "Taffy"— "Taffy,"' and he repeated 
it half-a-dozen times. Three days afterwards 
he came to me and said : — 

" c I think, sir, we shall want a different 
kind of bit for Murphy ! ' " 

Harry How. 


by Google 

Original from 

Stories from ike Diary of a Doctor. 

By the Author of ik The Medicine Lady." 

Y a strange coincidence I was 
busily engaged studying a 
chapter on neurotic poisons 
in Taylor's "Practice of Medical 
jurisprudence," when a knock 
came to my door, and my 
landlady's daughter entered and handed me 
a note. 

" The messenger is waiting, sir,' 1 she said, 
*' He has just come over from the hospital, 
and he wants to know if there is any 

I had just completed my year as house 
physician at St. Saviour's Hospital, East 
London, and was now occupying lodgings 
not two minutes off. 

I opened the note hastily- — it contained 
a few words :— 

" My Dear Halifax, — Come over at 
once, if you can. You will find me in 
B Ward, I have just heard of something 
which I think will suit you exactly, — Yours, 
John Ray." 

" Tell the messenger I will attend to this 
immediately," I said to the girl- 


Digitized by OOOgle 

She withdrew^ and putting the note into 
my pocket I quickly slipped into my great- 
coat, for the night was a bitterly cold one, 
and ran across to St Saviour's, 

Ray was the resident surgeon. During 
my time at the hospital we had always been 
special friends* I found him, as usual, at 
his post He was in the surgical ward, busily 
engaged setting a broken leg, when I put in 
an appearance. 

" 111 speak to you in one moment, Halifax," 
he said ; u just hand me that bandage, there's 
a good fellow. Now then, my dear boy," he 
continued j bending over his patient, a lad of 
fourteen, "you will soon be much easier. 
Where is the nurse ? Nurse, I shall look in 
again later, and inject a little morphia before 
we settle him for the night Now then, 
Halifax, come into the corridor with me." 

" What do you want me for ? " I asked, as 
I stood by his side in the long corridor which 
ran from east to west across the great hospital, 
and into which all the wauls on the first floor 
opened. " Why this sudden message ; w F hat 
can I do to help you, Ray ? " 

M You have not 
made up your 
mind as to your 
future?" answered 

"Not quite," I 
replied. " I may 
buy a practice, or 
try to work my way 
up as a specialist 
— I have a leaning 
towards the latter 
course ; but there 
is no special hurry 

" You are not 
averse to a job in 
the meantime, I 
presume ? " 

"That depends 
upon what it is," I 

" Well, see here* 
I have just had 
a frantic telegram 
from a man in the 

rom connXr y- Hisnarae 

9 2 


is Ogilvie — I used to know him years ago, 
but have lost sight of him lately. His 
telegram recalls him to my memory — he is a 
clever fellow, and bought himself a large 
practice at a place called Saltmarsh. He 
has wired to ask if I can send him a locum 
tenens in a great hurry. This is what he 

Ray began to read from the telegram : — 

" ' Wife ill — can* I attend to practice. Send 
someone with brains in his head down to- 
n *gkty if possible' 

" There, Halifax. Put this in your pocket 
if you mean to attend to it. You have 
nothing special to do just now. Will you 

" How far off is Saltmarsh ? " I asked. 

" I have an * A B C ' in my room ; come 
and well look the place up." 

Ray pulled me along with him. We 
entered his rooms at the corner of the wing, 
and the next moment had ascertained that it 
would be possible to reach Saltmarsh by the 
Great Eastern line in two hours and a half. 

"Will you go?" he asked, "it may be an 
opening for you. In your state of indecision, 
it is well to take any chance of seeing 
medical life. Ogilvie will probably only 
require your services for two or three days, 
and — in short " 

" It would oblige you if I went ? " I inter- 
rupted. "That settles the matter." 

" No, no. You must not labour under a 
false impression. Ogilvie was never a friend 
of mine ; I just knew him in the ordinary 
course, and never took to him in any special 
way. Will you go, Halifax, just for the 
chance of seeing life, and helping some poor 
beggars in the country ? If you say no, I 
must cudgel my brains for someone else, and 
there is no time to be lost." 

I looked at the telegram again. 

" Yes, I will go," I said. " I can catch 
the nine train from Liverpool Street without 
difficulty. This will bring me to Saltmarsh 
at 11.45. Will you wire to Ogilvie, or shall I 
do so, Ray ? " 

II I'll take that trouble off your hands, my 
dear fellow. I am awfully obliged. Now 
then, good night, and good luck. Look me 
up when you return." 

Ray rushed back to his ward, and I went 
to my lodgings to pack my portmanteau and 
get ready for my sudden journey. I caught 
the train in comfortable time, and all in due 
course, without hitch or hindrance of any 
kind, arrived at Saltmarsh, not more than 
five minutes after the time mentioned in the 

by LiOOgle 

A servant in livery was standing on the 
platform. The moment he saw me he came 
up and touched his hat. 

" Are you for Dr. Ogilvie's, sir ? " he asked. 
" Are you the doctor who is expected 
from London ? " 

11 Yes," I replied. 

" My master's brougham is outside," con- 
tinued the man. " Will you come this way, 
sir ? " 

I followed him at once, seated myself in 
the brougham, which was drawn by a pair of 
horses, and ten minutes later had alighted 
from the comfortable carriage and found 
myself standing in a wide, handsomely fur- 
nished and brightly lighted hall. A man- 
servant opened the door to me. 

" The doctor from London ? " he queried, 
even before I had time to speak. 

"Yes," I answered, "I am Dr. Halifax; 
have the goodness to take this card to your 

" Come this way, sir. Oh, good Lord," he 
muttered under his breath, "ain't this a 

There was a sort of terrified expression 
about the man's face which I had already 
perceived faintly reflected on the counte- 
nance of the servant who had met me at the 

" I'll let my master know you've come, sir," 
he said, and then he noiselessly shut the door 
and left me to myself. 

I found myself standing in a room which 
any London physician would have considered 
palatial. It was lofty and very large. The 
floor was almost covered with the softest of 
Turkey carpets ; the walls were hung with 
good pictures ; and the furniture was hand- 
some, modern, and in excellent taste. 

I went and stood with my back to the 
glowing fire. I could not quite account for 
my own sensations, but the words I had 
heard the servant utter gave me a distinct 
sense of nervousness. I knew that a doctor 
ought to know nothing of such feelings, and 
I was ashamed of myself for owning to them, 
and made a great effort to pull myself 

The next moment the door of the room 
was opened, and a gentlemanly man with 
silver hair and a soft, long beard entered. 

" Mr. Halifax," he said, bowing to me, " I 
must introduce myself as Dr. Roper. I am 
an old resident of Saltmarsh, and have known 
the Ogilvies for many years. Mrs. Ogilvie is 
seriously ill — seriously ! — alarmingly, I ought 
to add, and I am attending her." 

" Is Dr. Ogilvie at home?" I asked. 




41 Pray sit down, Mr, Halifax:, Dr. Ogilvie is 
out at the present moment, He expected you, 
and sent the carriage to the station. He was 
most anxious for your arrival, and will, I am 
sure, be in directly. In the meantime, will 
you allow me to do all I can for your comrort? 
You would like to come to your room ; let 
me show you the way," 


" I think I should prefer to wait for Dr 
Ogilvie," I said, "You are much occupied 
with your patient, and I must not trespass 
upon a moment of your time. I am very 
comfortable here, and can wait for my host 
if he is not long. I understood from his 
telegram that he wants someone to look after 
his patients," 

(i He does— he has an immense practice, 
quite the largest in Saltmarsh, His wife's 
sudden illness has upset him frightfully, and 
he cannot collect his thoughts. I suggested 
to him to wire to Ray, and I am truly glad 
that you have been able to respond so 
quickly. " 

"Thank you," 1 replied; 
trouble yourself about me, 
learn that Mrs, Ogilvie is so ill." 

"She is very ill, indeed; it is a strange 
seizure. She is a young woman, and up to 
the present has always been healthy. She is 

DlgiHzed by C^OOQ Ic 

"please do not 
I am sorry to 

suffering from embolism. This is a strange 
disease to attack the brain of a young woman. 
Well, I must return to her ; 1 will send the 
servant to attend to you and get you refresh- 

He went out of the room, closing the door 
as noiselessly as he had entered The man- 
servant who had admitted me to the house 
came into the consulting- 
room bearing a tray which 
contained a plentiful cold 

"My master will, I am 

sure, be back in a moment/' 

he said ; " he was a good 

deal flurried over the missis's 

sudden illness, and has gone 

for a ride on the mare. We 

expect him back each 

minute, for he knew 

the train you'd arrive 


" When he comes 
in, tell him that I am 
here," I answered, 

"Yes, sir, I won't 
fail to." 

The man looked at 
me intently — his face 
had not the wooden 
expression which cha- 
racterizes most of his 
class, it showed 
marked agitation and 
uneasiness— he opened 
his lips as if about to 
make a confidence, 
then, thinking better of 
it, closed them again and withdrew, 

I ate some supper and then, sinking back 
in a comfortable chair, took up a book and 
tried to read. 

Perhaps I had sunk into a doze un- 
awares. I cannot tell I only know that 
I suddenly found myself standing up ; 
that I knew the nervous sensations of the 
earlier part of the evening had returned with 
greater force than ever ; that the little clock 
on the mantelpiece was chiming in a silvery 
note the hour of one, and the fire was 
burning low on the hearth, 

" Good heavens ! " I said to myself, " I 
must have had a sleep, Has that man not 
returned yet from his ride ? One o'clock — I 
wonc 1o r if the servants have forgotten me 
and gone to bed," 

I pressed the button of an electric bell in 
the wall, and waited for the result. The 
answer came quickly. The man-servant, 




looking more disturbed and uneasy than 
ever, entered the room. 

"I'm sorry to say, sir t " he began, not 
waiting for me to speak, " that my master 
has not yet returned, We can't none of us 
account for his absence." 

" You don't fear an accident ? " I asked. 

" Oh, no, sir, that's scarcely likely, Dr. 
Ogilvie is the best rider in the country round, 
and though the mare is a bit skittish, she's 
like a lamb always when he sits on her. Dr. 
Ogilvie may have ridden over as far as 
Tewbury, which is a matter of eighteen miles 
from here ; he has patients there, I know, and 
he may be detained for the night" 

" Scarcely likely/' I said, " with Mrs. 
Ogilvie so ill." 

" She is that, sir ; she's mortal bad, and 

we all think " He stopped and forced 

back some words. u I can't tell you why 
my master isn't home, Dr. Halifax \ but as 
there has been no call from any special 
patients this evening, perhaps you'd like me 
to Like you to your room, sir." 

(t There does not seem any use in staying 
up longer," I said. " If you are going to sit 
up loi Dr. Ogilvie, you can tell him that I 
am here, and can be disturbed at any 
moment if necessary. Now I will follow you 

I was shown into a com- 
fortable room, furnished as 
handsomely as all the rest 
of the spacious house. A 
fire, newly made up, burned 
on the hearth, and several 
tall candles helped to make 
the apartment cheerful. I 
was dead tired* and did 
not take long tumbling into 
bed. I had scarcely laid 
my head on my pillow 
before I sank into a pro- 
found and dreamless sleep. 

It seemed only to last a 
moment, although in reality 
I must have been in bed 
a couple of hours, when I 
was awakened by someone 
shaking me and flashing a 
light in my eyes, 

11 1 wish you would get 
up, Mr Halifax,, and come 
with me/' said Dr. Roper. 
" I cannot account for Dr. 
Ogilvie's prolonged ab- 
sence. He has not yet 
returned, and Mrs. 
Ogilvie's condition is so 

unsatisfactory that I should like you to see 

" I will come at once," I replied 

I was not three minutes getting into my 
clothes, and an instant later found me in the 
sick chamber. It did not bear the ordinary 
appearance of a room of illness — the darkness 
and the enforced quiet of such chambers 
were both absent. 

A merry fire burned on the hearth ; 
candles were shedding cheerful rays over the 
room. A young woman who wore a nurse's 
cap and apron leant over the rail at the foot 
of the bed \ a middle-aged woman, with a 
somewhat unpleasant face, was standing by 
the fire and occasionally bending forward to 
watch the contents of a saucepan which was 
heating on the flames. There was a strong 
smell of coffee in the apartment, and I did 
not doubt that the nurse and the attendant 
were going to prepare themselves cups of 
this beverage. 

On entering the room my attention was 
primarily attracted by these two women, but 
when I turned to the bed I forgot all about 

Seated upright on the bed was a little boy 
of from four to five years of age. He had a 
quantity of tumbled hair of a light shade, 




Original from 



which glistened in the candlelight His eyes 
were preternaturally wide open ; his lips were 
shut, so as to make a small straight line. 

He glanced up at me not in alarm but in 
defiance, and stretching out one dimpled 
hand, laid it with a caressing motion on the 
head of the sick woman. 

"That child ought to go to bed," I said to 
Dr. Roper. 

" Oh, no, never mind him," he replied, 
quickly. " He is perfectly happy here, and 
determined to stay. He will make a noise 
if you disturb him." 

I said nothing further, but bending over . 
the bed prepared to examine the patient. 

She was a young woman of not more than 
two or three and twenty. Her hair was 
abundant and of the same colour as the 
child's. Her eyes were partly closed — her 
face had a grey and ghastly appearance. In 
health she may have been pretty, but there 
was a look about her now which gave me 
again that nervous sensation which I had 
experienced once or twice before during the 

I proceeded at once to make the usual 
examinations. I found the skin of the 
patient warm and bathed in perspiration — 
the breathing was low and had a stertorous 
sound. The pulse was very slow. 

I raised the lids of the eyes and looked 
into them. The pupils, as I expected, were 
considerably contracted. I took up a candle 
and passed it backwards and forwards before 
the face of the patient She was, as I knew 
beforehand, absolutely insensible to light. 

Dr. Roper began to speak to me in a 
hurried, anxious way. 

" I heartily wish her husband were home," 
he said. " I have done all that is possible to 
arouse her, but in vain ; each hour, each 
moment, the heavy stupor in which she is 
lying increases — in short, I have every reason 
to apprehend the worst consequences." 

While the doctor was speaking, Taylor's 
opinions with regard to neurotic poisons 
kept flashing before my mind. 

" I should like to speak to you in another 
room," I said; " come with me at once." 

We went into the dressing-room. 

Dr. Roper saw by my manner that I was 
disturbed, and his own uneasiness became 
more manifest. 

" It is an awful responsibility to have a 
woman in this condition, and her husband 
unaccountably absent," he repeated. 

"Never mind about her husband now," I 
said. " The thing is to restore her, and there is 
not an instant to lose." 

by L^OOgle 

" What do you mean ; what more can we 

"You believe her to be suffering from 
embolism ? " I said. 

" Undoubtedly, all the symptoms point to 
it There is a clot of blood in one of the 
arteries of the brain." 

"Nothing of the kind," I said. "Your 
patient is suffering from the effects of an 
overdose of opium — not the faintest doubt 
on the subject" 

To say that Dr. Roper turned pale is to 
give but a very faint idea of his appearance 
when I pronounced my verdict. 

" Nonsense, nonsense," he said, with a sort 
of gasp; " who would give Mrs. Ogilvie opium ? 
She was a perfectly strong woman — she 
suffered no pain of any sort. There was 
nothing to tempt her to administer it to her- 
self ; and as to her husband, he is devoted 
to her. For goodness* sake, young sir, don't 
come down to a quiet place like this and set 
such scandal afloat" 

" I don't want to set any scandal going," 
I replied. " It is nothing to me what anyone 
thinks. You have called me in to see the 
patient. I pronounce the case one of opium 
poisoning, and I insist on immediately using 
restoratives. We must make use of the sto- 
mach-pump and see what electricity will do." 

My manner was so firm, and I carried my 
convictions so plainly written on my face, that 
Dr. Roper began to be convinced against his 

" There is not a moment to lose," I said 
" Is there an electric battery in the house ? I 
suppose Dr. Ogilvie has everything necessary 
for our purpose in his surgery." 

Dr. Roper interrupted me. 

" I wish to say," he began, in a hesitating 
voice, " that my friend, Ogilvie, and I con- 
sulted together over this case. Our opinions 
are absolutely unanimous. All the symptoms 
pointed to a cerebral clot" 

" Excuse me," I said. " The state of the 
pupils of the eyes, the warmth of the patient's 
skin, the slow and yet stertorous breathing, 
can all be accounted for by an overdose of 
opium. If nothing is done to restore that 
young woman she will certainly die, and if 
she dies in my presence I shall think it my 
duty to see that some investigations take 
place. It will then rest with the post- 
mortem examination to prove the truth of 
my diagnosis or not" 

" I wish Dr. Ogilvie were home," murmured 
the old physician, perspiration breaking out 
on his brow, and his eyes growing troubled. 
"But, on my soul, I believe you are right 


9 6 


with regard to one point, and that poor 
young creature, so full of life and beauty only 
twenty-four hours ago, is really drifting into 
the other world. In that case it cannot be 
wrong to use .any means for her restoration. 
I will fetch what you require, Mr. Halifax, 
and join you in the sick room in a moment." 

He ran downstairs and I quickly returned 
to my patient. 

I was relieved to find that the beautiful 
child was no longer seated on the bed ; his 
anxious vigil had probably proved too much 
for his tender years, and he was now doubtless 
calmly asleep in his cot in another room. I 
bent over my patient — I felt she was my 
patient now — and I determined not to leave 
a stone unturned to bring her back to life. I 
wanted to discover if there were any odour of 
opium on her breathing. 

I could not find any, but the more I 
looked at her, the more sure I was that this 
illness was an unnatural one, and that the 
poor young woman who lay before me had 
been poisoned by either accident or design. 

I felt myself growing hot with indignation. 
What kind of man was Dr. Ogilvie ? Why 
was he absent at such a critical moment? 
Why did the servants look so queer and 
troubled ; and last, but not least, why was I 
myself for the first time in all my medical 
experience actually suffering from an attack 
of nerves ? 

I felt through and through my being that 
something horrible had been done in this 
room, and I much wondered whether the 
strong restoratives which I meant to employ 
would be in time to be of the least use. 

Dr. Roper entered the room, and we began 
our task. The first thing was to remove 
what portion of the poison still remained in 
the patient's stomach. The electric battery 
was then brought into force and artificial 
respiration resorted to. For a long time we 
worked without any apparent result. 

One glance at the contents of the stomach- 
pump had caused Dr. Roper to turn so white 
that I thought he would have to be helped out 
of the room, but he speedily recovered himself 
and assisted me with a will and determination 
which showed that his opinion now fully 
coincided with my own. 

The two nurses were like trained automa- 
tons in our hands. 

There was a strange silence about our 
doings. We made little or no noise as we 
fought through the long hours of the night 
that awful fight with Death. 

Towards morning a noise in the silent 
street caused Dr. Roper to utter a hurried, 

by Google 

thankful exclamation, and to my unbounded 
delight had an effect on my patient 

She opened her eyes, gave a faint smile, 
looked full at the old doctor, and murmuring 
her husband's name, closed them again. 

"Ogilvie has returned," said Dr. Roper, 
glancing at me. " Thank Heaven ! Whatever 
detained him can now be explained. Those 
were his horse's footsteps which you heard 
just now clattering up to the door." 

" And Mrs. Ogilvie is better," I said. " I 
have every hope that she will do now. I 
dare not leave her for a little, but you might 
go down and acquaint Dr. Ogilvie with what 
has occurred during his absence." 

" With what we have found ? " began Dr. 
Roper. " No, no, he is an old friend — that 
must be another man's task." 

" Hush," I said, " Mrs. Ogilvie is becom- 
ing more conscious each minute. We must 
be careful ; she is very weak." I looked 
towards the bed as I spoke. 

My patient now lay with her eyes wide 
open. They were still dim from the effect 
of the drug, but the unnatural ghastly colour 
had left her cheeks, and her breathing was 
quicker and more regular. 

" Stay with her," I whispered to the old 
doctor. "You have but to administer 
restoratives at short intervals ; I will see Dr. 
Ogilvie myself, and quickly return." 

I left the room. I expected to see my 
host mounting the stairs, and hurrying with 
what speed he could to his wife's sick 

Instead of that there was commotion and 
alarm. Alarm on the faces of some maid- 
servants who, with hot haste, were hurrying 
downstairs. Voices raised to a shrill pitch 
of terror and distress sounded from the hall. 
There were hurrying steps, the confusion 
caused by doors being opened hastily and 
banged again regardless of sound. Dr. 
Ogilvie was nowhere to be seen. What was 
he doing ? Why had he remained absent so 
long and at such a critical time, and, above 
all things, why had he returned now to turn 
the quiet house into noise and confusion ? 

Mrs. Ogilvie was better, certainly, but her 
heart had undergone a severe strain, and any 
undue agitation might undo all our night's 
work, and cause the feeble, fluttering breath 
to cease. 

I ran downstairs quickly. 

" Hush ! hush ! " I said. " I must beg of 
you all to be quiet ! Where is Dr. Ogilvie ? 
I must speak to him immediately." 

The servant who had let me into the house 
the day before now came forward. He was 




only half-dressed, and his hair stood up 
wildly on his head, 

"Will you step into this room, Mr, Halifax?" 
he said, u An awful thing has happened, 
sir. The mare has come home riderless !" 

" Dr. Ogilvie's mare ? " I 

"Yes, sir. There's no 
sign of my poor master, and 
we all fear an awful acci- 
dent. The brute was that 
trembling as never was 


when it got to the door. Here's the groom— 
he'll tell you himself the state we found the 
mare in, all in a lather, and shivering from 
head to foot You step in, Williams, and 
talk to the gentleman." 

" It's true what he says/' remarked 
Williams, who had been listening to our 
conversation from the open doorway. "I 
never see a critter in such a taking as that 
raare. She shook like a leaf, and whinnied 
like a baby. I can't think as the mare f ud 
throw the doctor, for though she is a skittish 
piece, she was always like a Jamb when he 
rode her. It's an awful business, and I can't 
make head nor tail of it Perhaps he got off 
to see someone and tied her up as he do, 
and then she made off But then her bridle 
would have broken, and it isn't Well, well, 
George and me, we don't know what to do." 

" What would you advise, sir?" asked the 
footman, who went by the name of George, 
" I suppose we must start a search party ; 
but how we are to get them together, and it 
still dark night, is more than I can make out' 

Vol, vi.-l3. 


w Does the coachman live on the 
premises ? " I asked, 

" No, sir ; his house is at the other end of 
the town." 

* { You had better go and wake him," I 
said. " You, of course, 
know two or three men 
who will help you in an 
emergency of this sort 
By the way, is there not 
snow on the ground ? " 

"Yes, sir," replied 
George ; " a light sprink- 
ling. The snow has 
been falling for an hour 
or so, and is now rest- 

"The snow will help 
you," I said, " The day 
is already beginning to 
break, and you will be 
easily able to trace the 
mare's footsteps over the 
fresh snow. We non£ 
of us can tell what has 
happened, but the proba- 
bilities point to Dr, 
Ogilvie having been 
thrown from his horse. 
I must go back at once 
to your mistress, who is 
better, but not out of 

" Thank the Lord she 
is better ! " ejaculated 
George, while a look of relief swept over the 
groom's face. 

"She is better," I replied; "and now I 
trust to you, George, and to you, Williams, to 
start a search party with the least possible 

"Thank you, sir," the two men said. 
"There ain't no doubt that we'll do our very 

They looked relieved, as people always do 
when they get definite and explicit directions, 
The men left the house immediately. I found 
it necessary, on re-entering the hall, to say a 
few words to the agitated women -servants, 

"Get the house lighted up and well 
warmed," I said, " and do this with the least 
possible delay. Dr, Ogilvie is most probably 
hurt, and may be brought home before long. 
It will be well to get a bed made up in one 
of the downstairs rooms in case he is too 
much injured to be carried upstairs," 

The maids were also pleased at being given 
work to do, and having restored a certain 
amount of order, ][ returned to my patient 


9 8 


The moment I entered the room and 
looked at her, my heart gave a thankful 
bound. Whatever had happened, whatever 
dark cloud was hanging over the house, her 
young life was saved, The natural look of 
faintly returning health was reviving more 
and more each moment on her face. She 
turned her head when I entered the room 
and asked me a question. 

** Is my husband in the house? p she asked. 

" No," I replied, using that latitude with 
regard to truth which I considered in her 
case absolutely necessary. "He has been 
called out suddenly." 

"I wonder he did not come to see me 
first," she answered, gently. 

u He had not a moment— the case was 
urgent It will be nice for him to find you 
so much better," 

"Oh, yes, I am nearly well," she said, with 
a smile, and then she closed her eyes peace- 
fully and sank into a natural sleep, 

I motioned Dr. Roper out of the room, 
and told him as well as I could what had 

The circumstances of the night, the 
appalling discovery we had made with regard 
to Mrs. Ogilvie's illness, had unmanned him 
a good deal, and now the grave fears which 
we were forced to share with regard to Dr* 
Ggilvie's fate completely prostrated the poor 
old man. 

"I feel dazed, Halifax," he said. « I 
cannot realize what all this means. There 
isn't a better fellow living than Ogilvie ; he is 
devoted to his wife; and 
she — - well, pretty dear, I 
have known her from a 
baby. Who could have 
given her that opium ? ** 

"The thing now is to 
find Dr, Ogilvie, w I said, 
"We will assume that he 
has been thrown from his 

"Why do you say we 
will assume it? Of course 
the mare threw him — nasty 
thing she always was. I 
often warned him about her, 
Why do you say we will 
assume that Dr. Ogilvie has 
met with an accident, Hali- 
fax ? " 

I made no reply, but the 
old doctor read my thoughts 
in my face, 

"No, no," he said, "it 
isn't that ; it can't be that 

Well, III go myself and help to look for 

He went downstairs, trembling and totter- 

11 1 will take care of Mrs. Ogilvie/ 1 I said, 
calling after him as he reached the lower 
landing. " Make your mind easy on that 
score, and have some wine before you start" 

I then went back to the sick room. The 
patient still slept, and the nurses were softly 
moving about, putting the chamber in order, 
and removing all traces of the disorder which 
had reigned there while Death and the 
doctors were having their fight 

I sat down in an easy chair and, being 
very weary, dropped into a doze. I am sure 
I did not sleep long. When I awoke I 
observed that Mrs, QgUvie was looking at 
me with a puzzled but gentle expression, 

" I wish I knew your name," she said* (< I 
have seen you in my dreams all night, but I 
don't know who you are." 

II My name is Halifax, ^ I said 

11 Halifax," she repeated ; " we don't know 
anyone called Halifax." 

u You are unlikely to know me: I am a 
doctor from London ; I have come down to 
help your husband with his patients, and as 
you were very ill last night and Dr. Ogilvie 
was away, I helped to look after you," 

" Was I very ill ? " she repeated. "I don't 
seem to remember anything, only that I was 
drowsy and hated to be disturbed. I had 
bad neuralgia yesterday morning, and my 
husband gave me something to drink. Soon 






afterwards the pain went, and I felt very 
sleepy, nothing more* How could I have 
been ill if I felt no pain ? " 

"People are often ill without suffering 
pain," I replied. " Be thankful that you 
are much better this morning. 1 am going 
to order some breakfast for you now." Here 
I raised my voice, ** Nurse," I said, "will 
vou, please, get some strong tea for Mrs, 

The hospital nurse left the room, but the 
older woman still sat keeping guard by the 
fire ; her face was very black and ominous. 

H Are you there, Jenkins ? " called Mrs, 

u Yes, my dear,'' she replied, then she 
came over to the bedside, bent suddenly 
over the young wife and kissed her* 

I was amazed at the change in her face 
when she did this, The sullen ness gave place 
to a hungry sort of tenderness, as if a partly 
starved heart had been suddenly fed* 

"You'll excuse me, sir," she said, turning 
to me, and I noticed that her eyes were full 
of tears ; " but I have nursed Mrs. Ogilvie 
since she was a baby, and she's not twenty- 
three yet, poor dear." 

She suddenly left the room, and I noticed 
for the first time how child-like, how younger 
even than her years, were the outlines of my 
patient's pretty face. 

She was getting better each moment, but I 
dreaded her 
making in- 
quiries about 
her husband. 

The nurse 
came back with 
the tea, and I 
was leaving the 
room to go to 
my own to have 
a wash and 
dress, when 
one of the 
came up to me 
and spoke 

"If you 
please, sir/' she 
said, " there's 
a woman down- 
stairs. She has 
risked for Dr. 
Ogilvie. She 
says she's one 
of his patients, 
and won't be- 

made a hasty 
The daylight 

lieve me when I say that he's not in and not 
likely to be. I showed her into the con- 
sulting-room, and I thought maybe you'd 
come down and see her, sir." 

" Yes/' I said, u I will be down im- 

I rushed into my room, 
toilet, and went downstairs, 
was now shedding a sickly gleam over every- 
thing, but the large consulting-room had a 
neglected appearance, for the shutters were 
only partly removed from the windows, and 
the ashes of last night's fire were still grey 
and cheerless on the hearth. 

Standing in the middle of the room was a 
tall j middle-aged woman with a florid face. 
She had a defiant sort of manner, and a 
habit of tossing her head, which accompanied 
more or less all her actions. She did not 
look like an invalid, and my heart gave a 
fresh beat of alarm as though I knew, even 
before she spoke, that a fresh leaf in the Book 
of Tragedy was about to be turned, 

" Sit down," I said ; " I am sorry Dr. 
Ogilvie is out," 

" Oh, yes," she replied, " as if I'm likely to 
believe that little game ! He don't want to 
see me j but you tell him, young man, that 
Flora's mother is here, and that here Flora's 
mother will stay until he comes to her," 

"I don't understand you/' I said "Dr. 
Ogilvie has been absent all night— we are 





all terribly anxious about him ; we fear that 
his horse has thrown him, as it came back 
riderless this morning. If you will go away 
now and come later I may have tidings for 
you. J ' 

There was a vague hope in my mind that 
the woman might bo a lunatic ; the best 
thing was to get her quietly out of the house 
and warn the servants on no account to re- 
admit her. 

" Dr. Ogilvie is out/" I repeated ; " I have 
no object in keeping the truth from you." 

She looked startled for a moment when I 
spoke of a possible accident, but soon the old 
toss of the head re -asserted itself. 

" Oh," she said, " you nearly took me in, but 
I'm too old to be gulled I'll wait here for Dr. 
Ogilvie until he comes 
back. I gave him forty- 
eight hours, and the 
time's up : he was ex- 
pecting me this morn- 
ing. You send someone 
in to light the fire, young 
man, and I wouldn't 
object to a bit of break- 

There was nothing 
whatever for it but to 
humour the woman. 
Whether mad or sane 
she would not leave the 
house without making a 
disturbance. She was 
strong enough to fight, 
and she certainly seemed 
to have sufficient nerve 
to offer physical resis- 
tance if necessary. 

"Very well," 1 said, 
after a pause, "if you 
won't go I will leave you 

I went back into the 
hall, where one of the 
maid-servants was hover- 
ing restlessly about 

" Do you think you 
can get her to leave, 
sir?" she asked. 

" No/ 1 1 replied; "she insists upon waiting 
to see your master." 

" She hints very queer things, sir," con- 
tinued the servant 

" I don't want to hear them," I answered, 
impatiently. w It is more than probable that 
the woman is deranged. Has she been here 
before ? " 

"Two days ago, sir, and just about this 

hour, too. She was shut up with my master 
in his consulting-room for a long time. We 
all noticed how changed Dr. Ogilvie looked 
after that He seemed to turn old all of a 
sudden. We all saw it" 

"Well," I said, "you had better take the 
woman some breakfast And please don't 
listen to a word she says, for I do not think 
she is accountable." 

These remarks had scarcely passed my lips, 
and the servant had not attempted to obey 
my directions, before a sound of heavy foot- 
steps in the street caused us both to turn 
pale. I rushed to the hall door and opened it 

Several men bearing a burden on a 
shutter were ascending the steps, A motion- 
less figure, covered with a sheet, lay on the 


shutter. The men, without uttering a word, 
brought it straight into the house. 

Dr, Roper accompanied them. 

" Come in here," he said, and they 
carried their burden into the spacious 
dining-room and laid it on the centre 

" Make no noise/' whispered the doctor 
hoarsely to them ; "go quietly away." 

Then he turned to me. 




" Come into this room with me, Halifax," 
he said. 

He pointed to a little conservatory which 
opened out of the dining-room. His manner 
had altered ; it was now composed and quiet 
I perceived that the shock he had received 
had the strange effect of absolutely steadying 
his nerves for the time. 

"We found him," he began at once — "we 
found him several miles from home. 
The mare's footsteps were distinctly visible 
in the snow, and we had no difficulty in 
tracing them to the spot on the borders of a 
wood where the act was committed." 

" He killed himself, then," I whispered. 

" Yes, yes ; my friend ! my poor, poor 
friend ! I found him myself, Halifax " 

Dr. Roper took out a handkerchief and 
wiped the damp from his brow as he spoke. 

" I found him quite stiff and cold. The 
bottle that had contained the poison which 
he had swallowed was tightly clutched in his 
right hand. Poor, poor Ogilvie — oh, my 
God, that I should live to see this day ! " 

" Can you account for it ? n I asked 

"Oh, yes, Halifax — yes — I can account 
for it — yes — that accounts for it" 

He took a letter out of his pocket and 
thrust it into my hand. 

"Read it," he said "It is right you 
should know the truth. I found it in his 
breast pocket — it was addressed to me." 

Dr. Roper turned to leave the conservatory 
— I opened the letter. 

The words it contained were concise and 
calm. No trace of emotion was allowed to 

"My Dear Roper," began the unfor- 
tunate doctor, "When you receive this I 
shall have died by my own hand. Life has 
become intolerable to me — I will tell you why. 

"Two days ago there were few happier 
men than I. I had all, and more than I ever 
dreamed I could possess of happiness and 
the good things of life. Above and over all 
else, I was the husband of the sweetest wife 
in the world. I don't believe any two people 
were more devoted to each other than 
Maggie and I. Two days ago the storm 
which wrecks us both broke. I often told 
you that I had spent the early years of my 
medical life in Australia. But I never men- 
tioned either to you or to Maggie that I was 
married when there. I married a handsome 
girl who turned out to be a virago— one of 
the cruellest, the most heartless, the wickedest 
women who ever polluted God's earth. 

"After two years of absolute misery, which 
no words of mine can possibly describe, my 

wretched wife died suddenly when I was 
engaged on business up the country. I was 
given the certificate of her death, and, re- 
lieved beyond measure, I returned to England, 
bought a practice here, and fell in love with 
my sweet Maggie and married her. We have 
been husband and wife for nearly six years ; 
we have one beautiful child ; no people could 
have been happier than we were. 

" Two days ago a woman called to see me. 
To my horror I quickly recognised her as 
my first wife's mother. She told me at once 
that her daughter had never died. She gave 
reasons, which I need not enter into here, for 
the trick which had been played upon me. 
Since then tidings of my prosperity had 
reached the wretched pair, and they came to 
England determined to make me acknow- 
ledge my real wife and reinstate her in the 
place occupied by my beloved Maggie. 

" Of course, I offered money, but all in 
vain — my real wife must have her rights or 
nothing. If I did not immediately reinstate 
her she would denounce me for bigamy. 
Finally, I asked for two days' grace to decide 
what steps to take. This was unwillingly 
conceded to. During twenty-four hours I 
thought the whole thing over. One does not 
take long to make up one's mind when one 
is in despair. 

" I resolved not to bribe the women, not 
to argue with them, but by one fell stroke to 
cut the ground under their cruel feet Roper, 
I resolved to kill both myself and Maggie. 
My Maggie, my darling, should never live to 
hear of the disgrace which would more than 
break her heart. Maggie should go first, by 
easy and painless steps, into the other world. 
There I would quickly meet her. I made 
my resolve, and this morning began to carry 
it into effect I gave my dear and only true 
wife a portion of a certain drug which re- 
sembles morphia in its effects, but leaves no 
smell, and might easily make those not really 
acquainted with its peculiar power suppose 
the victim to be suffering from embolism. I 
heard of this drug in Australia, and had a 
small quantity with me. I do not know its 
name, but it is much used by the Australian 
aborigines. When taken in certain quantities 
it causes slow and painless death. 

" I have watched Maggie during the whole 
of this awful day ; there is now no chance of 
her recovering for a life of misery. I am 
going out on the mare ; I shall ride a con- 
siderable distance, and then send the horse 
home. I have a large dose of the same 
poison in my pocket It will kill me, Roper 
— I am a good riddance. FarewelL" 




I had scarcely finished reading this 
miserable letter before Dr, Roper, his eyes 
blazing with excitement, rushed into the 

14 For God's sake, Halifax, come at once/' 
he gasped. " That awful woman has found 
her way into the room where the body is, 
Her nerves have given way completely at sight 
of it She has confessed that her whole 
abominable story is a lie — that her daughter, 

He may be only in a state of stupor. We 
saved his wife — we'll have a try for his re- 
covery, too. JI 

I ran from the room, and Roper, looking as 
if his senses had deserted him, followed me. 
We turned everyone out of the dining-room 
and locked the door. I flung the cloth off the 
dead man's face, and, seizing a looking-glass, 
held it to his lips. 

il Thank God!" I exclaimed, turning to 


poor Ogilvie's first wife, has really been dead 
for years, and that she only invented her 
horrible fiction for purposes of blackmail/' 

"Then — then," I said with a sudden shout, 
which I could not repress, " we'll have a try 
for it. 11 

M A try for what ? Are you mad ? " 
"Why, Roper, don't you see?" I ex- 
claimed " Don't you see that if that woman's 
story is false, Ogilvie has nothing to die for ? 
The drug he has taken is slow in its effects. 

the old doctor and pointing to a faint dimness 
on its polished surface* 

That is the story, for of course we did save 
Ogilvie. We had a harder fight than even 
that of the night before, but in the end the 
grim King of Terrors withdrew, and we, the 
humble instruments who had brought back 
life almost to the dead, fell on our knees in 
thankfulness. And Ogilvie's wife was never 
told the real story of that night. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things — Among the Freaks, 


H v \\\ L. Alden. 

)\V I became acquainted with 
the door-keeper is of no con- 
sequence. He assisted me to 
pass away several weary hours 
that I once spent in Chicago. 
I know very w r ell that they 
ought not to have been weary hours, I 
should have visited the pork-packing estab- 
lishments, and gazed at and duly admired 
the fifteen and twenty-story buildings that 
Chicago will continue to pride herself upon 
until an earthquake conies and convinces the 
occupants of the upper stories that it would 
have been better for them if they had never 
t)een born. It happened, however, that I 
was snowbound, and waiting until the snow- 
ploughs should succeed in opening the way 
for the trans-continental trains. Being thus 
compelled to wait against my will, I was 
discontented, and took no delight in pork or 
tall buildings. It was in these circumstances 
that I met the door-keeper, and found him 
to be, in the words of the landlord of my 
hotel, u One of the nicest gentlemen and 
spryest fighters in all Chicago." 

The door-keeper was the chief owner and 
manager of a Dime Museum. The American 

Digitized by V^iOOQlC 

Dime Museum does not bear the most 

distant resemblance to the British Museum, 
It is simply an exhibition of monstrosities, 
genuine and artificial, and the public is 
admitted to view them on payment of a 
dime. These monstrosities, known in the 
11 profession " as " freaks," seem to be 
produced in quantities to supply the demand. 
Every Dime Museum professes to have the 
tallest giant, the smallest dwarf, the fattest 
fat woman, and the most beautiful Circassian 
girl in existence. There are three or four 
Dime Museums in every city in the United 
States, not to speak of those that are on the 
road* How they all manage to find the 
necessary stock of genuine " freaks " is a 
mystery which the outside public cannot 

My door-keeper was, as I have said, the 
proprietor of his museum, but he occupied 
the post of door-keeper for the reason that he 
could thus make sure of receiving the money 
paid for admission, and, being a powerfully- 
built man, could prevent the entrance of 
disorderly persons, and thus preserve the 
reputation of his museum as an " unequalled 
family resort/' a claim made for it by the 




handbills. He loved 
to talk of his pro- 
fessional experiences 
and in unfolding to 
me the private life 
of his " freaks " he 
opened up a new 
world, This is the 
story he told me con- 
cerning his "Wild 
Man of Borneo." 

u Yes, sir ! As I 
was saying, manag- 
ing a company of 
'freaks' ain J t no 
picnic. They're the 
most quarrelsome 
lot that was ever 
got together outside 
of a meeting of poli- 
ticians who want to 
bring about harmony 
in the party, A Fat 
Woman puts on more 

airs than any two Eyetalian primy-do liners, and 
for bad temper there is nothing that can 
touch a Beautiful Circassian Girl. I have to 
spend about one-third of my time in keeping 
my people from throwing crockery and pull- 
ing hair Except when they're falling in love, 
there ain't a day that some one of them don't 
come to me and swear that he or she'll leave 
if I don't discharge someone else, 

" Last year I had a Wild Man of Borneo 
who was dead in love with the Tattooed Lady. 
It was Barnum that invented the tattooed 
business, and for a while it was the best 
line of business in the profession. Every 
museum was bound to have a Tattooed Girl t 
with a yarn about her having been cap- 
tured by the Indians and tattooed when 
she was a little girl My Circassian Girl 
jumped at the chance of changing her 
line, for Circassian Girls don't begin to 
draw as they did twenty years ago, and 
when I proposed to her to do the Tattooed 
Girl act, she set to work at once to draw 
patterns for the tattooing, and being a 
mighty smart girl she got up some of the 
best designs that I ever saw. 

" My Wild Man of Borneo was a thin, 
cadaverous little chap, chock-full of senti- 
ment and poetry and all that sort of non- 
sense, When he got on his paint, and 
danced his war-dance, and howled — in what 
folks thought was the Borneo language — 
and swallowed raw meat, you'd have 
thought that he was about as murdering 
% style of savage as could be found,though 

Digitized by CiOOQ fe 



he really wouldn't 
have hurt a fiy. We 
kept him in a cage 
labelled ( Dangerous' 
until his part in the 
performance came 
round, and then 
a keeper would 
take him out and 
lead him with a 
chain around his 
waist to the plat- 
form, where he went 
through with his 
dancing and raw 
meat eating. I paid 
him a good salary, 
and he was worth it 
I wish I had him 
back again in his 
cage. The Wild 
Man IVe got now T 
is an Irishman, and 
he can't howl with- 
bound to give him 

out a brogue 
away some day. 

" Now this Wild Ma% the first one I men- 
tioned, you understand* was the kind of chap 
that is always falling in love, and of course he 
fell in love with the Beautiful Circassian. He 
wanted to marry her, and seeing as she didn't 
draw very well, and was getting tired of the 
business, and knowing that he was getting a 
good salary, and was a leading man in his 
line, she agreed to marry him, I never liked 
the girl, for she was bad-tempered and selfish, 
and I knew she didn't care a straw for the 
Wild Man, hut I told her and him that if 
they'd wait six months I'd give them a bang- 




io 5 

up wedding that shouldn't cost them a cent, 
and of course she insisted on waiting. 

" When she went into the tattooed busi- 
ness, the Wild Man, being engaged to her, 
naturally insisted on doing the stencilling. I 
know you won't give it away, so I don't mind 
telling you that the tattooing is put on every 
Monday with a stencil plate and brush, and 
is generally washed off on Saturday night 
when it begins to get faded. It takes about 
two dozen different stencil plates to do a 
girl up in style, and give her a variety of 
patterns. These plates were always kept in 
the property-room, and when Monday morn- 
ing came around the Wild Man would get 
them out and tattoo his lady-love as gently as 
if he was a great artist, painting a first-class, 
hand-made picture. He took about twice 
as long as was necessary for the job, and I 
will say that when he was done, he turned 
out the best Tattooed Girl that Chicago ever 

" Well, one day I hired a Chinese Sword 
Swallower. He was a Frenchman, though I 
didn't know it when I hired him. If I had, 
he would never have come into my show, 
for a Frenchman is the most troublesome 
1 freak ' in the whole 
profession, not ex- 
cepting even the 
Dwarf, and he's, 
generally speaking, 
a holy terror. Natur- 
ally, this Frenchman 
began to make love 
to the Tattooed Girl. 
I don't blame him 
for that, for, being a 
Frenchman, he had 
to act according to 
his nature ; but he 
knew she was en- 
gaged to the Wild the dwarf 
Man, and he had 

no business to meddle with an engaged girl, 
especially as there was the Fat Woman who 
hadn't anybody attached to her, and would 
have been thankful even for a Frenchman, 

" Now this Sword Swallower was a rather 
handsome young fellow, with lots of swagger 
about him, and he gathered that Tattooed 
Girl in without the least trouble. She threw 
over the Wild Man and wouldn't have 
anything more to do with him. She wouldn't 
even let him tattoo her, and said that the 
Sword Swallower was twice the artist that he 
was in handling a stencil brush. The poor 
chap came to me and said that he had made 
up his mind to commit suicide or to leave 

VoL vL— 14. 

Digitized by (jOOQ I C 

the business. He said that Jemima, for that 
was the girl's name, seemed to hate him. 
' Once she used to admire me in my great 
meat-eating act,' said the Wild Man. ' Now 
she says that it is perfectly disgusting to eat 
raw meat, and she can't endure my black 
paint. She tells me that it's a low line of 
business to be a Wild Man, and that she 
thinks that sword swallowing is perfectly 
lovely. I say it ain't nothing of the sort 
A sword ain't half as digestible as raw 
beef, and I don't care who says it is.' 

"'You give her up, my boy,' I said. 
' Don't waste your time over her. You're 
in the very front rank in your line, and that 
is something to be proud of.' 

" ' I know it,' said he ; * but I can't stay in 
this show if that Sword Swallower stays. My 
contract will be up next month, and you 

might as well let me 
off now. If you 
don't, there is noth- 
ing for me except 
the cold and silent 

" ' You drop that 
nonsense ! ' said I. 
4 The grave's no sort 
of place for a man 
of talent like you. 
Leave this business 
to me, and I promise 
you that inside of 
a week Jemima will 
give that Frenchman 
his walking ticket, 
and you'll have the 
field to yourself 

" He was a trust- 
ing little beggar, and 
had no end of con- 
fidence in me. 
What I said brought 
up his spirits again, and that afternoon 
he howled better than he had ever 
howled before, and two women fainted away 
when he jumped at them with his spear, as if 
he was going to run them through then and 

" Now I happened to have a lot of stencil 
plates that I used to mark boxes with, and 
knowing that the Frenchman couldn't read 
or write, I felt pretty sure that I could put 
up a job on him that would settle his busi- 
ness with the Tattooed Girl. In the course 
of the day I took six of her stencil plates 
out of the drawer where they were kept and 
put six of mine on the top of the pile in 

Original from 





their place, and waited for next Monday 
morning to come round 

"Naturally it came round, and naturally 
the Frenchman was on hand at eleven o'clock 
to stencil the girl,, so as to be ready for the 
afternoon exhibition. He never noticed any 
difference between the plates he had been 
using and the ones 1 had furnished, for 
besides not being able to read, he was so 
taken up with making love to the girl, that he 
never had no time to notice anything else* It 
was the same way with her. She supposed that 
the stencilling was going on all right, and she 
never so much as looked at the plates, know- 
ing that the Frenchman always used them in 
regular order, beginning with the top of the 

"He always began with her back, and 
when he had used up six of the stencil 
plates, he had her shoulders and forehead 
stencilled, and then went to work on her 
neck. The plates he used for this part of his 
work were the regular ones, and as the girl 
couldn't see her forehead or her back, she 
supposed they were all right Which they 
wasn't, as you will presently understand. 

"After the tattooing was over, and the 
Frenchman had gone to dinner, I took the 
girl into my office and kept her there till the 
performance began* so that nobody should 
be able to see her. While the show was 
going on she had to sit in a chair on a raised 
platform, where everybody could see her, and 
when her turn came the chair w:is slowly 
twisted round, while the lecturer told the yarn 
about her having been captured by Indians, 
and explained her diagrams. She couldn't 

help noticing that people 
stared at her more 
than usual when they 
came in, and she sup- 
posed that the stencil- 
ling must have been 
done extra particular 

" What they were 
staring at ? however, was 
her forehead, which was 
stencilled * J, H. M./ 
being my initials, and 
they naturally wondered 
how the Indians came 
to tattoo a girl with 
English letters. But it 
was when the lecturer 
began to explain her, 
and turned her chair 
round so as to show her 
back, that the fun began. 
Across the back of her neck was ' Keep 
Dry/ in big letters; a little farther down 
was ( Very Fragile 'and * Handle With 
Care.' One arm was marked ' Strictly 
Private/ and the other 'This Side TT p,' 
and, as good luck would have it, the 
Frenchman had not got a single plate upside 

" Well, when the people saw it they first 
laughed themselves sick, and then got mad. 
They said they had been swindled, and that 
the girl had never been near no Indians. 
One fellow said that seeing as she wasn't a 
leopard she couldn't change her own spots, 




Original from 



and that* consequently, I had 
changed them for her, and was 
a thief and an impostor. And 
how they chaffed that poor 
girl ! I really felt sorry for 
her, though I knew she de- 
served it all. As for the 
lecturer, he left as soon as the 
first egg hit him on the head, 
and the girl would have left 
too, if she had been able to 
get out of the crowd. 

" 1 let the row run along a 
little in hopes that the French- 
man would get mixed up in 
it, but he was no such man, 
and he bolted the minute it 
began. So seeing as there was 
danger that the crowd would 
wreck the establishment, I 
went in with three policemen 
and my four teamsters, and we 
cleared out the people without much trouble. 
I told them that there had been a mistake, 
and that the Tattooed Girl being sick 
couldn't show that day, and my secretary, 
not wishing to disappoint the people, had 
got a substitute without consulting me. What 
with offering them free tickets for the next 
day, and licking half-a-dozen or so of the 
most cheeky, I settled the affair up, and the 
next day the show was as peaceful as even 

" What became of the Wild Man ! Oh ! 
I 'most forgot to tell you. When the 
Tattooed Girl found out what the row had 
been about she swore that the Frenchman 
had done it on purpose, and 
that she would never see him 
again, barring such time as 
might be necessary to tear his 
eyes out He heard of this 
and had sense enough to keep 
on his side of the house, and 
she never had a chance to 
get at his eyes. After the 
month was up he left me, and 
that was the last I ever saw 
of him. The field being clear, 
me Wild Man makes up to 
the girl again, and she takes 
him back, making it a condi- 
tion, however, that he should 
give up the Wild Man busi- 
ness and go into some other. 
So he set to work and learned 

SHfe WOULD TlfAfc 1115 EVES OUT, 

the sword swallowing act, though a Sword 
Swallower doesn't command more than half 
the average wages of a first-class Wild Man* 
He's doing sword swallowing in my museum 
now, and don't like it very much. He 
told me the other day that he hankered 
for his old life. *Thishyer swallowing busi- 
ness is too conventional for me/ he said. 
* There ain't no room for the display of 
histrionic talent like there was in that raw 
meat act. But she won't have it, and I must 
do what pleases her, 1 

"They calculate to be married in 
about two months, and then 1*11 lose 
them both j for of course 
they'll quarrel, SO that I shall 
have to get rid of the pair 
of them. We II f it was what 
might have been expected 
after letting a Frenchman into 
the show. If it wasn't that 
she is a mighty handsome 
woman, and has got the best 
stencilling in the profession, 
I'd bribe her to leave on the 
sly, and Fd get her lover to 
go back to the Wild Man 
business. It's the only line fit 
for a man of his talent, and 
he's just throwing himself 
away, as you might say, now 
that he is only a Chinese 
Sword Swallower," 


by ^C 


Original from 




by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 


ELBURY ROAD, Kensington, 
has for some years past been 
completely converted into a 
colony of eminent artists and 
sculptors in general, and R.A.'s 
in particular. Pedestrians sel- 
dom pass by that way. It is a corner of London 
which the birds seem to have singled out as a 
fitting place for early and impromptu concerts 
— a Kensington ian nook, where the flowers 
bloom and the 
trees are posi- 
tively patriotic 
towards our 
sister isle in t 
■constant "wear 
ing of the green/ 
It is altogether 
an ideal spot for 
the artist. One 
house in the 
Melbury Road 
cannot fail to 
cause both eyes 
to " take it in." 
You cannot mis- 
take it It stands 
next to a habi- 
tation of the 
Norman period. 
It is of red brick, 
and its windows 
are brimming 
over with scarlet 
geraniums and 
marguerites. It 
is of Queen Anne 
design, and bears 
visible marks of 
the skill of Nor- 
man Shaw, who designed it some sixteen 
years ago. But, then, there are many other 
"Queen Annes" in Melbury Road Still, 
there is no mistaking it ; for if you listen at 
the gate you may sometimes hear little 
voices. You cannot see the owners of them, 
for they are playing about on the lawn at 
the hack, and hidden by evergreens and 
bushy shrubs. 

"Phyllis! Phyllis! if you're not quick 
you'll miss this butterfly." 

Fnjm a >. byf 


« Yes — there — there it goes!"' and you 
hear a delightful shriek go up, and you feel 
you would part with all your small earthly 
possessions if you could but laugh as happily 
as that, You were just then listening to the 
two little daughters of Luke Fildes, R.A. 

The true chord of a genial spirit is struck 
immediately you meet the Royal Acade- 
mician. He looks exactly what he is — an 
artist. Tall, well-built, with expressive fea- 
tures, and eyes 
that never fail to 
gather in "life " 
— he is undeni- 
ably handsome. 
His beard and 
moustache are 
brown, his hair 
black, and tinged 
with the very 
fa in test sign of 
silver on the 
way. He talks 
to you earnestly, 
as though he 
considered that 
nothing should 
be said or 
uttered without 
thought. Every 
word, with him, 
has its due 
weight and value* 
Yet, notwith- 
standing this 
wise and com- 
ni e n d a b 1 e 
there is a jollity 
of disposition, a 
merry side of 
That he is in 

i BMoft A Vry. 

keen appreciation of the 
things always apparent, 
love with his work is unquestionable, but 
the studio — and only an artist knows 
its fascinations < — has not severed him 
from home ties. His wife is his constant 
companion. She will spend hours with him 
in the studio. Mrs, Fildes is herself an 
admirable artist ; hence her advice and criti- 
cism on an important detail of work are often 
of the greatest value. The children, too. 
There are fou* boys - Val, a godson of Mr, 




Val Prinsep, Paul, Geoffrey, and Dennis; 
and two little girls, of whom we have heard 
before. The two youngest boys and the girls 
are still at home, and lead a life of homely 
happiness, I like to weigh results 
from natural causes. Perhaps the 
helpful aid of wife and the pleasures 
of childhood, allowed a free and un- 
fettered course, have something to 
do with the fact that Mr. Luke 
Fildes looks ten years younger than 
he really is ! 

His home is that of the artist — 
everything has its own artistic place 
and corner ; nothing fails to har- 
monize, nothing comes short of 
gaining the effect wanted. It is a 
cosy and compact hall you enter. 
The walls are encrusted with crimson 
and gold- Engravings after Sir 
Joshua Reynolds are in abundance — 
Penelope, Lavina, Simplicity, the 
Countess Spencer s and many more. 
A quaint old Venetian lantern finds 
a place amongst knick-knacks in blue 
china, and here it may be said that 
Mr, FiMes has an exquisite collec- 
tion of blue china scattered through- 
out the house. He had a hobby for 
collecting it before he was married, 
and they range from the tiniest of 
vases to heavy and massive jars. 
Here hangs the only framed original 
" black and white " in the house — an 
illustration for Victor Hugo's 

" L'Homme Qui 

Passing beneath 
the crimson cur- 
tains, on either 
side of which are 
proofs after 
Marcus Stone T 
R-A.j you reach 
the body of the 
house. Brass 
plates from Venice 
line the staircase 
in delightful negli- 
gence. They are- 
all over the house r 
intermingled with 
blue china and 
other ware. Im- 
mediately facing 
you is a magni- 
ficent pear-wood 
cabinet of Italiarr 
workmanship. The 
school-room is to the left Specimens of the 
work of the artist, whose children occupy 
this apartment, are not missing; and the 
drawing-room is right before you. It is a 

From a Photo, bj Eiliutt *t Fry. 

by Ijl 

J>rmn a f'hutu hy\ mrs* kjJtttfifcl Ww« cFiO-HftEN. {Elliott J: fry. 




room filled with 
the perfume of 
flowers ; for not 
only are the vases 
filled with them, 
but the scent 
cymes in through 
the open balcony 
door from the 
garden. From 
here you may 
now catch sight 
of the happy 
hunting ground 
of the little 
heroines of the 
butterfly adven- 
ture. The entire 
back of the gar- 
den is shut in by 
trees. The great 
green lawn, the 
gravel walks, the 
ivy and Virginia 
creeper trailing 
up the balcony 
and trying to 

Fnm * Fhtffr b*\ 


iEiiioU &£nt. 

fight their way into the 
and absolute quietude, take 
one miles from a noisy metropolis. 

The white ceiling of this apartment and 
the golden bronze on the walls produce a 
beautiful effect. The Chippendale furniture 
is very fine, the chairs being upholstered in 
plush of a glorious blue. A cabinet near the 
window contains the early playthings of the 

From a l'fit*t> fcjt] 


little ones— the silver bells on coral stems 
and silver christening mugs. Over the 
mantelpiece hangs a portion of a canvas of 
the Marom period. The figure of a boy is 
shown with a hand resting on his shoulder. 
The owner of the hand has disappeared. 
The original sketch for Mr. tildes' " Betty " 
is given a prominent place, and a delicate etch- 
ing after Corot David Murray, A.R.A<, and 

Henry Woods, R.A,, 
are well represented ; 
and a piece of con- 
vent needlework, 
purchased in 
Venice, is pointed 
out for its striking 
selection and beauti- 
ful blending of the 
silken threads em- 
ployed in its making. 
We pass through 
the dining-room on 
our way to tli^ 
nursery* The pic- 
tures here are the 
famous French 
series of Rubens in 
the Louvre, ,whieh 
include " 1 /Educa- 
tion de la Reine," 
u I.a Reine prendre 
le parti de la Paix/' 
1 " La Conclusion de 


n 4 


J-'rvm rt Photo, by] 



la Pais," "La Felicite de la Regence," etc. 
The prevailing tone of this room is Indian 
red, and the furniture— mostly Chippen- 
dale — corre- 
sponds to per- 

What is un- 
questionably one 
of th^ brightest 
and biggest of 
the rooms in the 
house is devoted 
to the use of the 
children. The 
goldfinch is sing- 
ing away as we 
enter, It seems 
quite as happy 
as its feathered 
friends outside 
in the open. It 
is named "Joe," 
after a canary 
who used to 

roam about the house, but one day 
hopped on a stove in the studio, and 
was burnt The toy cupboard is a 
small edition of the Lovvther Arcade, 
and a rocking-horse is resting in the 
corner, The mantel board is given up 
to some figures of "The Ulue Boy" 
type, and a funny little Chinaman nods 
his head, and often brings a smile to 
the faces of the younger , members.. 

Over a big black 
chest hangs an 
unfinished picture 
by Henry Woods, 
This chest has a 
small interest. It 
has been the re- 
pository of draw- 
ings and sketches 
ever since its 
o w ne r was e i gh teen 
years of age. Its 
drawers are brim- 
ming over now— 
Studiesfor" Edwin 
Drood," "The 
Casuals," "Fair, 
Quiet, and Sweet 
Rest," and many 
more. We are in 
the midst of look- 
ing at them when 
the children troop 
in from the lawn. 
It is a natural 
question to ask Mr. Hides if any of his 
children have ever found their way into his 
pictures. The golden curls of little Phyllis 
seem familiar to me, and lam wondering 
where I have seen that old lamp before 
which now stands on the top of the big 
black case. 

If you look at the frontispiece of this 
magazine, you will find a reproduction 
of a picture which is the most beautiful 
in sentiment and exquisite in pathos of 
any painted in modern times* A little 
girl is lying on the two chairs, her head 
propped up by a pillow. The shade of 
the lamp is raised so that the light 

may fall on her 
face. Yes, they 
were Phyllis's 
curls, but the 
sleeping child was 
Mr. Tildes 1 little 
boy Geoffrey ! 

"When he 
wanted his morn- 
ing sleep," said 
Mr. Fildes, w he 
used to be brought 
up to the studio. 
The nurse would 
watch him as he 
lay on the chairs* 
As he slept I 
painted. You see 
the hand falling 




From the Pietttr* Ay] 


tiiiHvm *>/ tJu orui-.n tr/ L r w wjiyritfhL Hear*. That. A&ntte ct &#«■,> 

down by the side helplessly ? One day, I had 
just finished the picture with the child's hands 
tucked up close together at the neck, as 
children sleep, when I noticed my boy J s 
hand fall over the side. I thought it exquisite 
—so pleading and pitiful. I altered the 
hands in the picture at once, and painted 
the left one as you see it now." 

The nurse asked for the lamp as a little 
memento of the painting of "The Doctor," 
h^nce its presence in the nursery. 

The staircase leading to the studio is lined 
with many proofs of Mr, Fi Ides' work : the 
tapestry which hides the walls is very choice 
and beautiful. Here are "The Casuals,' 1 
" The School Girl " — the diploma picture — 
and many Vene- 
tian views and 
figures* "The 
Village Wedding" 
— you remember 
it, the bridegroom 
holding the parn- 
sol of the bride, 
who looks down 
demurely, the 
stalwart guards- 
man with his 
mother resting 
proudly on one 
arm, and a young 
woman on the 
other who wishes 
u it was her J? ? 
The soldier came 
from Knights- 
bridge barracks — 
a fine fellow over 
six feet high. How fw« />**(* m 

he used to blush 
as he stood with 
the two ladies 
when being 
painted ! He 
went out to Egypt 
and came back 
invalided. What 
a trouble the 
bridegroom was 
to the artist ! 

" I have in my 
studio," said Mr* 
Fildes, "a picture 
of a boy who 
figures in * The 
Penitent' When 
I was making 
studies for £ The 
Village Wedding, 1 
some ten years afterwards, I put up at Aston 
Tirrald, in Berkshire* I secured, as I thought, 
the very man for the bridegroom, He was a 
shepherd, and only recently married. A 
farmer^ with whom I was very friendly, let 
m^ use his barn as a studio, but on this 
[xarticular occasion I was painting in the 
apple orchard, I secured my shepherd friend, 
and soon after I had started sketching him I 
noticed he went deadly pale* 
u ' Are you ill ? ' I asked 
" 'No, zur/ he said, 4 I think it's th' smell 
o' that stuff you're using I ' 

" I suggested he should rest. He did 
so for ten minutes, and we resumed work 
Suddenly he went more ghastly than even 





"'You don't seem well,' I remarked 

"*Pm a' right, zur,' he answered, i oniy 
for holding my breath so long J ' 

f< The poor fdlow thought he had to hold 
his breath. But that is not alL 

" s Haven't I seen you before ? ? I asked. 

" ' Yuz, mr r you painted me ten year ago 
on a horse. Why, I knew you th* mi nit 
I saw you ! * 

H He >vas the same lad I had painted 
for my ' Penitent/ at South -Stoke- on - 
Thames, all those years back." 

We just looked 
for a moment 
into Mrs* Fi Ides' 
room, It is a 
curiously in- 
teresting apart- 
ment Notice the 
children's tiny 
birthday pre- 
sents, all bright 
and highly 
polished, care- 
fully displayed in 
the vicinity of the 
fireplace— the 
little gridirons, 
candlesticks^ and 
pots and pans. 
Even a rabbit 
with one leg gone 
is treasured. 
Several of Mrs, 
Fildes' pictures 
hang here. Close 
by the window is 
a ^portrait of her 
eldest boy, done 
in Venice in 1S81. 
A small but 
choice David 
Murray is con- 
fessed to being 
the only picture 
Mrs. Fildes ever 
bought Linley 
appears as a 

photographer, with portraits of Val and 
Paul The photographs are many, and of 
course Henry Woods has a canvas or two in 
this delightful nook which looks down upon 
the Melbury Road, 

We entered the studio, the workroom of 
a man who has painted with a truer touch of 
humanity than any artist of recent years. It 
is a grand studio, subdued in colour, yet 
withal relieved by numerous bright touches. 

JVvw* the rift H fa bgj 

■Mli:. J ll,l.4,v, 

On an easel rests the portrait of Mrs. Fildes, 
the artistes first portrait, painted in 1887. 
Mrs, Fildes is in black silk and jet; a fur 
cloak is wrapped about her, A single diamond 
butterfly, a bracelet, and the wedding ring are 
the only jewellery displayed. The tiro por- 
traits of the Duke of York and the Princess 
May are just finished ; and as we look at 
them, the painter tells me how much im- 
pressed he was with the desire of the Duke 
that his mother should be satisfied with 
them. There are a dozen unfinished can- 

vases about. 
The walls are 
lined with the 
works of intimate 
friends and en- 
gravings of the 
artist's own 
labours. Some 
of the etchings, 
particularly those 
of Jules Breton 
and Van der 
Meer, are very 
fine, whilst all 
the component 
p a rts of a 
painter's work- 
room — the great 
gilt and crimson 
chairs, theFloren- 
tine couches and 
tables, elabor- 
ately inlaid, to- 
gether with the 
model's "throne" 
are all pictur- 
esquely arranged 
upon the rugs 
which cover the 
floor, A charm- 
ing bronze by 
Gilbert, A.R.A., 
is in a niche close 
by the shepherd 
lad who figured 
in " The Peni- 
tent" Mr. Fildes 
bought it at the Academy before Mr. 
Gilbert was as famous as he is now. There 
are many works of reference and other 
volumes, and the framed Diploma of the 
Royal Academy, dated 8th December, 
1SS7, ''whereby in consideration of your 
great skill in the art of painting, it is 
our pleasure that your name be forth- 
with inserted in the roll of Academicians, n 
is given a prominent place* Suspended 


[ Luke /-'thta, R r A- 



tfrpm. <* Pkoia. bgl 


[Elliott tt Fry- 

from the ceiling are two quaint old-time 
Venetian lamps. 

You pass beneath crimson plush curtains, 
and here is the light studio. Scattered about, 
with combined negligence and neatness, are 
countless tubes of colour ; curious old pots 
are filled with brushes; oils, knives, frames, 
and what not, are all here- More unfinished 
canvases, mostly portraits, have their faces 
turned to the wall, for the sun is shooting its 
beams through the glass roof, and refusing 
you admission, so to speak, to the very inviting 
wicker chairs which suggest il sit down and 
make yourself comfortable/' 

But we selected a cosy nook, a little 
summer-house for two, at the bottom of the 
garden, and it was there I listened to the 
story — a story of intense interest — of the 
artist's life, It was told without the slightest 
suggestion of" see what I have become" about 
it. A huge fact was stated — a life led set 
forth— and from that statement made it was 
no difficult matter to discern the true cause 
of success. " Discreet independence " has 
always been the motto of the artist from the 
first moment he took his pencil in hand 

Every man must make his own life, argues 
Luke Fildes, and he beat this thought into 
all his actions from his earliest youth. He, 
therefore, started on a good ground-work, and 
he has never looked back, His tnethods*of 
working are practical. There are scores of 
cottages in the country where there is always 
a chair at the table and a cup of tea for him, 
He loves to paint the people— the country 
folk who live amongst the meadows and 
sleep beneath the thatch. He goes amongst 
them 3 becomes friends with them ; he lives 
their life, and his brush chronicles it on the 
canvas. He strives to paint history — history 
in its most artistic up-to-date aspect. u The 
Doctor" is history. It is the medical man 
as he was at the end of 1890. 

That doctor in the picture is no senti- 
mental fellow, He is vjot thinking of the 
father and mother, though they be broken- 
hearted ; the suffering child is his one 
thought. Perhaps he brought it into the 
world, He is wondering how science can 
meet the little one's wants. Still he keeps 
the cup on the table close at hand. It is the 
doctor of iSya So with "The Casuals," 

l l8 


FiltHL ft I'ffU*. tff 


[£llwtt tt Fr^ 

e: The Widower/ 1 « The Penitent " — the 
history of those who are unhistorical at the 
moment the painter puts it on the canvas. His 
versatility is great Dickens was the first to re- 
cognise that. It is a wide bridge that connects 
the Sower-girls of Venice with the applicants 
for admission to a casual ward ! Mr. Luke 
Fildes is altogether an artist who can fascinate 
with the beautiful as truly as he can make 
one almost shudder at the- pictures of life 
where the beautiful is seldom found. 

I-riake Fildes was born on St. Luke's Day, 
1 8th October, 1844. Hence he was called 
Luke j his family having a strong leaning to- 
wards biblical names, 

*'l cannot trace any inclination towards 
painting in the family/' said Mr. Fildes, as 
he lit up a little Italian cigar, a box of which 
Henry Woods occasionally dispatches from 
Venice. " I was only about ten when my 
father died, and soon after his death I went to 
school at Chester, and lived with my grand- 
mother, whom I shrill always think of as ' the 
indulgent one/ I quite unconsciously turned 
t awards drawing. Even before I went to 
school, my chief delight was copying and 
colouring pictures ; my great ambition was 
to become the possessor of a big box of paints. 
i\t school, drawing became a passion with 
rae. Whilst most of the boys were taught 
drawing, this subject was not included in my 
curriculum, But it was my happiness to 
watch them, and I used to draw by myself," 

The little artist was discovered, and at the 
surest ion of friends he was sent to the School 

of Art at Chester. 
His progress was 
very rapid, and at 
the end of three 
months his master 
saw his ability, 
and said to his 
grand mother : 
" He ought to be 
educated for an 

44 Now," said 
Mr. Fildes, smil- 
ingly, " I come 
from a stock who 
knew very little 
about artists — 
whose only notion 
of an artist was the 
travelling portrait- 
painter who in 
those days put up 
at the local inn, 
drank and got into 
debt, and had a poor, long-suffering wife with 
a quiver full i So my grandmother was not 
impressed with the notion. She suggested 
something more substantial ; but— always the 
indulgent one — she gave in to whatever I 
said. I should tell you that while at Chester 
I made the acquaintance of a water-colour 
painter, who gave me my first lessons in 
painting. He first opened out to me what 
picturesque art might be ; we worked and 
talked together, and he showed me a new 
world- So, at last, in Octot>er, i860, a few 
days before my birthday, hearing there was 
a good school and a capital master there, 
I migrated to Warrington — my first launch- 
ing out into life by myself. I was then about 
sixteen/ 5 

At the Warrington School of Art he met 
a boy named Henry Woods — a younger 
student than he, very clever, very companion- 
able. And they became chums, and have 
never ceased to be so. As to what this very im- 
portant meeting led to — more anon. There 
he worked under an excellent teacher. He 
began to think. He had in his heart decided 
upon what his profession should be, but how 
was it to be brought about? The Great 
Exhibition of 1862 drew him to London ! 
London ! It played havoc with him — 
made him restless, dissatisfied — and when, 
at the end of ten days, he returned to 
Warrington he was tired of the place, and 
surprised his master at the School of Art 
by telling him that he was going to leave 
the town, 




of Ail 



" What are you going to do ? " his teacher 

M I don ? t know; but I'm going to 
London ! " was the answer. 

The teacher gave him good advice, and 
advised him to try for a scholarship at South 
Kensington — then just established* 

" If you get it," said the master, "you will 
ha%'e a definite object in view — you will have 
a right to your education." 

So young Fildes canie to the City 
Things in October, 1862, and went 
won a scholarship worth ^50 a year. 

a I had by this time," said Mr. Fildes, 
** formed very definite opinions of what art 
meant with me, I found the illustrated 
journal — Comhill was just in the height of 
its popularity — Once a Week, for which 
Millais used to draw, and many more ; and 
here I thought I saw a stepping-stone, I 
followed out my studies at Kensington 
badly, my heart and soul 
lay in a desire to be an 
"Illustrated" artist A 
year went by — my scholar- 
ship was renewed for another 
year, when a momentous 
chapter in my life came, 
which led me to leave South 
Kensington, much to the 
disappointment of Mr, 
Burchett, the head-master 
under whom I was studying 
religious art, with a view 
10 employing it in decora t- 
ing frescoes. I got an 
introduction to Mr* William 
Thomas, an engraver. I 
sent him some sketches, 
and he gave me some 
work. More followed, until 
aX last he said, ' Why don T t 
you go in for it altogether ? 
Ill guarantee you enough 
work/ So I threw in my 
lot, and began to draw for 
the illustrated journals. I 
did all sorts of work. I 
selected my own subjects, 
and they were written up 
to, making a speciality of 
London street life— 'The 
Street Juggler/ £ The Street 
Doctor/ and things of 
that kind, All this time 
I was practising painting 
■— going to life - class 
in the evening ; gra- 
dually improving; always 

plenty to do. Then came the summer of 

The summer of 1869 was a great year 
for the R.A. in embryo* One night Mr, 
Thomas confided to him a scheme he had 
for a new illustrated weekly newspaper. He 
was the first spoken to on the subject. He 
was asked to draw something, 

" What ? n the artist asked. 

" Anything you like/' replied Mr, Thomas, 
"as long as it's effective and good drawing." 

" I went home — 1 hadn't a studio then/' 
continued Mr. Fildes. " It was a terribly 
hot night when at ten o'clock I sat down 
with a piece of paper and scribbled out the 
idea for 'The Casuals.' Some few years 
before, when I first came to London, I was 
very fond of wandering about 3 and never shall 
I forget seeing somewhere near the Portland 
Road, one snowy winters night, the applicants 
for admission to a casual ward. It lived in 

FBGCOTTV QfiiClilflllkfl WEft 





my mind, and as I sat there in n\\ 
room I tried to reproduce it. I 
believe that very night was my turn- 
ing point — everything dated from that. 
On the 4th December, 1869, the 
number of the Graphic appeared, and 
in it was a full-page drawing of 
* Applicants for admission to a Casual 

Just about this time Dickens was 
on the look out for somebody to 
illustrate "The Mystery of Edwin 
Drood." He had asked both M ilia is 
and Frith to help him. One night 
Millais surprised the great novelist by 
going to his house just after dinner, 
and throwing him a copy of a paper 
- — the first number of the Graphic 
shouted : — 

"I've found your man!" and he 
showed Dickens the picture of "The 

" Yes, but can he draw a pretty 
girl ? " asked Dickens, 

So it came about that Dickens 
requested his publishers to write to 
young Fildes, asking him if he would 

undertake the work, at the same time 
requesting him to submit one or two 
sketches of "girls." Two special sketches 
of incidents from " David Copper field n 
were made — one of which, " Old 
Peggotty and Little Emily/* is reproduced 
in these pages — and Dickens was satisfied- 
— ■*__ They began work together. 

M He was very kind to me/' said Mr. 

Fildes, " He was then living opposite 

the Marble Arch, and lie asked me to 

many of his entertainments. He was 

almost fatherly, he seemed to throw a 

protecting air over me, and always 

elaborately introduced me to his guests. 

Soon after he went to Gad's Hill he wrote 

asking me to come and spend a week 

with him there. He mentioned the day 

I was to go, and that he would meet me. 

He wanted to show me some scenes he 

intended introducing in * Edwin Drood/ 

particularly one for the 24th drawing, a 

cell in Rochester Gaol he remembered 

seeing when a child, and had never seer* 

since. He wished me to do John Jasper 

in the condemned cell — what bearing tha: 

may have upon the true mystery of Edwin 

Drood will never be known, for it never 

appeared, I had packed up — preparatory 

to starting that same day — was just finishing 

ti 11 ne wouia 





off some drawings, when 

newspaper and read, ' Death of Charles 

Dickens !'» 

Unquestionably Luke Fildes was friendly 
with the Dickens family, for at this time Miss 
H oga r t h — Dickens's sister-in-law — wrote to 
him to the effect that as his contemplated 
visit was one of the last wishes of the dead, 
would he come all the same before the home 
was broken up? He went From this visit 
much, very much, resulted. The last work 
of Charles Dickens was to complete the 
sixth number of " Edwin Drood," so that he 
might be quite free for the companionship 
of the young artist. Whilst Mr. Fildes was in 
the house of mourning he sketched the desk 
and study where Dickens worked — he drew 
"The Empty Chair." As he was doing the 
desk the thought occurred to him how much 
better it would look in colour. He hurried 
to I^ndon, got his water-colours, returned 
to Gad's Hill T and painted it — every detail, 
every little particular. And all with no 
object, only with a view to filling up the 
time. But it proved to be the first picture of 
note ever painted by Duke Fildes, and came 
out as the Supplement to the Christmas 
number of the Graphic of 1870. 

We left the summer-house for a moment 
and returned to the house. Mr. Fildes 
showed me a little memorandum porcelain 
slate bound round with black leather, a quill 
pen with the blue ink still upon it, and a 
square sheet of unlined blue paper. They 
were on the desk just as Dickens left them, 
and were given to their present owner by 
Miss Hogarth. 

:ed by Goofilc 


0' Edwin DroocL") 

We returned to the garden once more. 

"The death of Dickens," said Mr. Fildes 7 
"had an extraordinary effect upon me* It 
seemed as though the cup of happiness had 
been dashed from my lips. I was tiring of 
wood drawing, and being now fairly well off 
— for my work secured good prices — I 
determined to become a painter. I went to 
Millais and showed him two subjects. One 
was 'The Casuals/ the other an illustration I 
had drawn for Once a Week. Either of these,. 
I considered, would make a good picture. 
Millais evidently thought, without saying s:o f 
that I was rushing in where angels fear to 
tread. He advised the Once a Week illus- 
tration, as there would be a better chance 
of getting rid of it. I took his advice — and 
also a studio in King Henry's Road, Haver- 
stock Hill, and Henry Woods took another 
in the same house. I should tell you that 
two years after I left Warrington, Woods 
joined me in London, and we became in- 
separable, going about everywhere together. 
I started work on a 9 ft. canvas — rather a cool 





{"* Edwin Drochi/'J 

thing to do— and whilst working on this I 
wtill continued illustrating stories for CornhiI} % 
and did many incidents in the Franco-German 
war for the Graphic^ including that of * The 
Dead Emperor.'" 

Then came a pretty little story. Mr. 
Fildes and Henry Woods went by the Thames 
to sketch. Henry Woods had two sisters, 
and they came up on a visit to their brother, . 
and stayed where the two young artists were 
working. Miss Fanny Woods often sat to 
one of these artists* She is the girl sitting 
down in the stern of the boat in the picture 
of "Fair, Quiet, and Sweet Rest," which was 
hung on the line and *' centred" in the Royal 
Academy of 1872* The picture was quickly 
u noticed " — it was the first work of an un- 
known painter And 1873 brought "The 
Simpletons "--two lovers in a boat! But it 
was not until the summer of 1874 that Miss 
Fanny Woods became Mrs. Luke Fildes, 

Digitized by Google 

Mr. Fildes always had a leaning towards 
"The Casuals," and in 1874 he painted it 
That, too, was a 9-ft. canvas. The picture 
is too well known to need description here — 
the mud and slush of the street, the suggested 
fog, the drunken loafer, the ruffian who " wants 
work, but wouldn't do it," the long, thin youth 
in the background, the sham soldier, the 
wife and husband cuddling up their children, 
the widow (who perhaps had never been a 
wife) hastening along, the policeman, and 
the bitter sarcasm of the l * notices " — posted 
immediately above the poor fellow who holds 
his little one so tightly to him — of "Child 
Deserted, J~2 Reward! 31 and *' Lost a Pug 
Hog, ^20 Reward !" But what stories the 
artist has to tell of his models for that 
remarkable work, 

" I used to go out night after night/' said 
Mr. Fildes, " and seek for types. I visited 
the various casual wards t and soon got to 
know the inspectors* If I saw anybody who 
took my fancy I gave him my card, and asked 
him to come round after he had picked 
his oakum, You notice that fellow with 

(" Edwin Uraod^ 

Original from 




his head bent down in the picture? He 
came to see me one morning wringing wet, 
and after sitting for a few minutes in the 
hall he was surrounded by a pool of water ! 
Some of these people I had to stand in my 
studio on brown paper, and put disinfectants 
round them. The drunkard — that fellow 
with his hands thrust deep into his pockets — 

was a perfect 
character. He 
would not sit 
to me without 
a quart pot by 
his side, which 
I had to keep 
conti n ually 

14 One day 
he said to me, 
4 What this 
country wants 
is a good war 
— that's what 
it wants ! ' 

" *Why?' I 

"'Why/ he 
answered, con- 
temptuously, as 
he took another 
pull from the 
pot — 'Cosit'ud 
stir up trade/ 

,( 'What is 
your trade ? p I 
" £ I'm a army accoutre me nt-m a ker ! ' 
"The policeman I borrowed from Bow 
Street. The long, thin lad at the back, 
whom I found in a casual ward, was a stow- 
away, He was a lad of sixteen, and 6ft. 
high. He had tramped everywhere. He 
stowed himself away on a boat going to 
America, was discovered, flogged, tran- 

Fnm. the PkUtn hv\ 




\Ltfcc rtZfto, ILA* 




(" Edwin Drood, ') 

shipped on another boat, pitched ashore at 
Liverpool, walked to London, and slept in 
the parks until I came across him. One of 
these fellows in the picture walked up and 
down outside my house all night, so that he 
shouldn't be late in the morning ! How he 
escaped the police is a mystery. " 

"The Casuals" created a great sensation. 
It made a wonderful impression. Nothing at 
once so dramatic and real had been seen for 
years. The status of Mr, Luke Fildes arose 
at a bound. It was bought by the late 
Mr, Thos. Taylor, who also purchased " The 
Widower" Mr. Taylors collection was 
eventually sold at Christie's, and "The 
Casuals " was sold to Sir George Holloway 
for 2,000 guineas, who stated afterwards that 
he had made up his mind to buy it, and was 
prepared to go to ,£4,000 for it The 
picture now hangs in the Royal Holloway 
College, Egham. 

A winter-spring stay in Paris in 1874 
resulted in "The Milkmaid," the original 
studies being made in England. Whilst 
painting this, " The Widower " was maturing 
in his mind for the exhibition of 1876. 

" 4 The Widower/ " said Mr Fildes, il arose 

out of an incident which happened in rny 
studio when painting 4 The Casuals, 1 I was 
painting in a rough-looking fellow with his 
child. He got tired of standing, so I sug- 
gested he should rest He took a chair 
behind the screen. I went on with something 
else- no movement reached me, so I peeped 
behind the screen and there I saw the motive 
for 'The Widower/ The child had fallen 
asleep, and there was this great, rough fellow, 
possibly with only a copper or two in the 
world, caressing his child, watching it lovingly 
and smoothing its curls with his hand, 

"*If I could but paint that/ I cried 

How Mr. Fildes succeeded may be gathered 
from the fact that it was "The Widower" 
which recommended him for his Associate- 
ship of the Academy, The model for " The 
Widower Jl was picked up on the streets — a 
countryman who had u come to London/* 
Whilst painting this picture, Mr. Fildes began 
to build his present house, and " the model " 
w T as employed for some time in helping to 




lay the bricks. But he vanished into thin 

In 1877 Mr. Fildes painted "Playmates," 
a strong and marked change from his previous 
work. In 1878 there was no picture in the 
Academy. He was in Venice. 

" I had visited Venice previously in 1874," 
he said, " when I made my first visit to the 
Continent It was there that I saw my 
artistic ideal of all that was beautiful. At 
first I was disappointed. I went there hot 
after painting ' The Casuals ' — I was steeped 
in Casuals — and I did not find the Queen of 
the Adriatic as Turner and Byron defined it. 
But the squalor was soon transformed into 
the romantic, the gay and buoyant It took 
my fancy, and I made up my mind to some 
time come and paint there. This oppor- 
tunity came in 1878, and I soon began to 
flirt with Vene- 
tian art I think 
my experience in 
this glorious city 
influenced me 
very much in my 
choice of a sub- 
ject for the 
Academy of '79. 
Now, I always 
work best if I 
have a definite 
motive in my 
mind. 'The 
Return of the 
Prodigal ' had 
been painted 
again and again 
— the picture of 
the man return- 
ing home once 
more was known; 
but what would 
be the attitude 
towards a poor 
woman under 
like circum- 
stances ? — how 
would she be 
treated ? Then 
people were 
beginning to chide me. Why were my pic- 
tures always so gloomy ? How could I expect 
such subjects to- go with the curtains in the 
drawing-room ? So I thought I would paint 
a strong dramatic picture in pleasant places. 

"One day I was in a Berkshire village. 
Whilst talking to an old dame at her door, I 
noticed a pale-faced girl walking along the 
path. When anybody came alone; she crossed 

Vol vl— 17. 


to the other side ; she cast her eyes upon the 
ground, and people looked her up arid down. 
She seemed to tremble beneath their gaze. 
"'Who is that?' I asked. 
"'That's Mary Brown, sir. She's just 
come out of Reading Gaol ! ' 
"'What for?' 

" ' Well, sir — well, she had a baby, and — 
and it died. This is her first day home I ' 

" That gave me the idea for ' The 
Penitent* So I painted the home-coming of 
the prodigal daughter, the village and the 
villagers, the woman who knew all about her 
as she looked upon the form of the poor girl 
who, in an agony of grief and despair at 
finding the old cottage deserted, sinks down 
upon the threshold. But, somehow, few 
people saw my point I don't think Picca- 
dilly liked it, though it was a big success in 

other places. 
I was going to 
call it 'The 
Return of a 
Prodigal ' ; but 
the gentleman 
for whom I 
painted it in- 
sisted that there 
was no such 
thing as a ' Prodi- 
gal Daughter!'" 
"The Village 
Wedding " was 
exhibited in 
1883. In 1883 
- 84 - 85 Mr. 
Fildes made con- 
siderable stays 
in Venice, paint- 
ing many pic- 
tures, chief 
amongst them 
being a large 
one for Mr. John 
Aird, one now 
in the possession 
of the Corpora- 
tion of Man- 
chester, "A 
Venetian Flower 
Girl," which hangs in the Schwabe Gallery, 
Hamburg, " The Daughter of the Lagoons," 
etc., etc., and since then he has been much 
engaged in portraiture. 

Then came the story of "The Doctor," 
which is reproduced in these pages for the 
first time in any publication. 

" Some six or seven years ago," Mr. Fildes 
said, I 



many sketches of fishers' huts, returned 
to town, and had the room built up 
exactly to size at the far end of the studio. 
It was a most substantial structure — even the 
massive rafters were there— and I painted a 
great cloth to look like a flooring of red 
bricks. The scene was just as you see it. 
The lamp was lit, and the light of approach- 
ing day coming through the window," 

" And the models, Mr. Fildes ? " I asked. 

" You know who the little girl was. The 
woman was a professional model, and the 
same man who sat for 'The Father* also 
sat for 'The Doctor/ 'The Doctor' was 
painted practically from a model with a 
clean shaven face, a young man— very 
unlike what I wanted, but so selected that 
my model might not interfere with the 
impression I had in my mind of the kind 
of man I really wanted. When it was 
finished, to all intents and purposes, in 
expression and character, yet lacking that 
decision of manner that can be only attained 
by working direct from Nature, I levied freely 
on my friends who may have had a feature 
resembling my ideal, got them to sit for it, 
and thus compiled, from five or six persons, 
'the doctor' in the picture as you have 


M * I would like you to paint me an English 
subject/ he said 

"I made up my mind there and then — 
'The Doctor 1 a subject I bad thought over 
for some years. He should be the actor in 
the little drama I had conceived— father, 
mother, child should only help to show him 
to better advantage. * The Doctor ' remained 
in my mind for a very long time, though it 
eventually proved the quickest painted picture 
I have ever done, Mr. Tate had to wait 
several years ; I had other commissions. 
You see, I had painted my wife's portrait in 
1 887, and that gave me a run on portraits, At 
last, after four years of waiting, Mr. Tate 
came to me and asked, * What about my 
picture ? ' 

'"I'm going to begin n&wf I assured 
him, and he saw nothing of the work 
until it was quite finished and ready for 
the Academy of "90. I travelled to 
many places, from Devon to Inverness, to 
get thoroughly acquainted with the character 
of the cottages and people. Whilst on my 
journeyings I had been picking up odds 
and ends in furniture — even the cup and 
basin were specially purchased* I made 





him. Many are the letters I have re- 
ceived asking for the name of l the doctor/ 
whilst one came from somebody who was ill, 
assuring me that she would be very thankful 
to have his address, for if she only had a 
doctor like him to attend her she felt sure 
she should soon get better ! " 

We left the summer-house, and on return- 
ing to the studio I saw an i-nyraving of the 
picture of which we had jus 4 ^ been talking, I 

looked at the doctor's face, then at Mr, 
FiUles. I compared them again, and yet 
again, There was no mistaking it. Numerous 
people had posed for the medical man, 
many were the borrowed features, but un- 
wittingly the eminent Royal Academician had 
— at any rate, to my mind — chronicled on the 
canvas what his own face will probably look 
like ten years hence ! 

Harry How. 

Hit JL"?»J ptnuitxiiM 0/ tte tfownwrn rt«J TrwttM 0/ lh« fitful tfulhuzav CAt^r, R#bwu- > 

by Google 

Original from 

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 

N glancing over the somewhat 
incoherent series of memoirs 
with which I have endeavoured 
to illustrate a few of the men- 
tal peculiarities of my friend, 
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have 
been struck by the difficulty which I have 
experienced in picking out examples which 
shall in every way answer my purpose. For 
in those cases in which Holmes has per- 
formed some tour-de-force of analytical rea- 
soning, and has demonstrated the value of 
his peculiar methods of investigation, the 
facts themselves have often been so slight or 
so commonplace that I could not feel justified 
in laying them before the public. On the 
other hand, it has frequently happened that 
he has been concerned in some research 
where the facts have been of the most re- 
markable and dramatic character, but where 
the share which he has himself taken in 
determining their causes has been less pro- 
nounced than I, as his biographer, could 
wish. The small matter which I have 
chronicled under the heading of " A Study 
in Scarlet," and that other later one connected 
with the loss of the Gloria Scott, may serve 
as examples of this Scylla and Charybdis 
which are for ever threatening his historian. 
It may be that, in the business of which I am 
now about to write, the part which my friend 
played is not sufficiently accentuated ; and 
yet the whole train of circumstances is so 
remarkable that I cannot bring myself to 
omit it entirely from this series. 

I cannot be sure of the exact date, for 
some of my memoranda upon the matter 
have been mislaid, but it must have been 
towards the end of the first year during which 
Holmes and I shared chambers in Baker 
Street. It was boisterous October weather, 
and we had both remained indoors all day, I 
because I feared with my shaken health to 
face the keen autumn wind, while he was 
deep in some of those abstruse chemical 
investigations which absorbed him utterly as 
long as he was engaged upon them. Towards 

evening, however, the breaking of a test-tube 
brought his research to a premature ending, 
and he sprang up from his chair with an 
exclamation of impatience and a clouded 

" A day's work ruined, Watson," said he, 
striding across to the window. " Ha ! the 
stars are out and the wind has fallen. What 
do you say to a ramble through London ? " 

I was weary of our little sitting-room, and 
gladly acquiesced, muffling myself nose-high 
against the keen night air. For three hours 
we strolled about together, watching the 
ever-changing kaleidoscope of life as it ebbs 
and flows through Fleet Street and the Strand. 
Holmes had shaken off his temporary ill- 
humour, and his characteristic talk, with its 
keen observance of detail and subtle power 
of inference, held me amused and enthralled. 
It was ten o'clock before we reached Baker 
Street again. A brougham was waiting at our 

" Hum ! A doctor's—general practitioner, 
I perceive," said Holmes. " Not been long 
in practice, or had much to do. Come 
to consult us, I fancy ! Lucky we came 
back ! " 

I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's 
methods to be able to follow his reasoning, 
and to see that the nature and state of the 
various medical instruments in the wicker 
basket which hung in the lamp-light inside 
the brougham had given him the data for 
his swift deduction. The light in our window 
above showed that this late visit was indeed 
intended for us. With some curiosity as to 
what could have sent a brother medico to us 
at such an hour, I followed Holmes into our 

A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers 
rose up from a chair by the fire as we 
entered. His age may not have been more 
than three or four and thirty, but his haggard 
expression and unhealthy hue told of a life 
which had sapped his strength and robbed 
him of his youth. His manner was nervous 

j£n gentlema "- 

and shy, like that o] 




and the thin white hand which he laid on the 
mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist 
rather than of a surgeon. His dress was 
quiet and sombre, a black frock-coat, dark 
trousers^ and a touch of colour about his 

"Good evening, Doctor," said Holmes, 
cheerily; "I am glad to see that you have 
only been waiting a very few minutes." 

11 You spoke to my coachman, then ? n 

u No, it was the candle on the side-table 
that told me. Pray resume your seat and let 
me know how I can serve you.* 1 

" My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan," 
said our visitor, "and I live at 403, Brook 

" Are you not the author of a monograph 
upon obscure nervous lesions ? " I asked. 

His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at 
hearing that his work was known to me. 

" I so seldom hear of the work that I 
thought it was quite dead," said he. " My 
publishers give me a most discouraging 

account of its sale, You are 
yourself, I presume, a medical 
man ? " 

"A retired Army surgeon," 
" My own hobby has always 
been nervous disease. I should 
wish to make it an absolute 
specialty, but, of course, a man 
must take what he can get at 
first. This, however, is beside 
the question, Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes, and I quite appre- 
ciate how valuable your time 
is. The fact is that a very 
singular train of events has 
occurred recently at my house 
in Brook Street, and to-night 
they came to such a head that 
I felt it was quite impossible 
for me to wait another hour 
before asking for your advice 
and assistance," 

Sherlock Holmes sat down 
and lit his pipe. "You are 
very welcome to both," said 
k^ he. " Pray let me have a 

detailed account of what the 
circumstances are which have 
disturbed you," 

"One or two of them are 
so trivial," said Dr. Trevelyan, 
il that really 1 am almost 
ashamed to mention them. 
But the matter is so inex- 
plicable, and the recent turn 
which it has taken is so 
elaborate, that I shall lay it all before you, 
and you shall judge what is essential and 
what is not* 

4 * I am compelled, to begin with, to say 
something of my own college career. I am 
a London University man, you know, and I 
am sure you will not think that I am 
unduly singing my own praises if I say that 
my student career was considered by my 
professors to be a very promising one* After 
I had graduated 1 continued to devote my- 
self to research, occupying a minor position 
in King's College Hospital, and I was for- 
tunate enough to excite considerable interest 
by my research into the pathology of cata- 
lepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton 
prize and medal by the monograph on 
nervous lesions to which your friend has 
just alluded. I should not go too far if I 
were to say that there was a general impres- 
sion at that time that a distinguished career 
lay before jgftairial from 



my want of capital. As you will readily 
understand, a specialist who aims high is 
compelled to start in one of a dozen streets 
in the Cavendish Square quarter, all of which 
entail enormous rents and furnishing ex- 
penses. Besides this preliminary outlay, he 
must be prepared to keep himself for some 
years, and to hire a presentable carriage and 
horse. To do this was quite beyond my 
power, and I could only hope that by 
economy I might in ten years* time save 
enough to enable me. to put up my plate. 
Suddenly, however, an unexpected incident 
opened up quite a new prospect to me, 

ri This was a visit from a gentleman of the 
name of Blessing ton, who was a complete 
stranger to me. He came up into my room 
one morning, and plunged into business in 
an instant, 

" £ You are the same Percy Trevelyan who 
has had so distinguished a career and won a 
great prize lately ? ' said he I bowed. 

'* 'Answer me frankly,* he continued, 'for 
you will find it to your interest to do so. 
You have all the cleverness which makes a 
successful man. Have you the tact ? * 

" 1 could not help smiling at the abrupt- 
ness of the question. 

" ' I trust that I have my share/ I said. 

"' Any had habits? Not drawn towards 
drink, eh ? ' 

" ' Really, sir ! ' I cried. 

"'Quite right! That's all 
right ! But I was bound to 
ask. With all these qualities 
why are you not in practice ? ' 

I( I shrugged my shoulders, 

11 * Come, come ! i said he, 
in his bustling way, ■ It's the 
old story. More in your brains 
than in your pocket, eh ? What 
would you say if I were to 
start you in Urook Street ? ' 

M I stared at him in astonish- 

" ( Oh, it's for my sake, not 
for yours/ he cried. * 111 he 
perfectly frank with you, and 
if it suits you it will suit me 
very well. I have a few thou- 
sands to invest, d*ye see, and I 
think I'll sink them in you.' 

( * ' But why ? ' I gasped. 

"'Well, it's just like any 
other speculation, and safer 
than most' 

"•What am I to do, then?' 

"Til tell you. Ill take the 
house, furnish it, pay the maids. 

and run the whole place. All you have to 
do is just to wear out your chair in the 
consulting-room. Ill let you have pocket- 
money and everything* Then you hand over 
to me three-quarters of what you earn and 
you keep the other quarter for yourself. 1 

"This was the strange proposal, Mr, 
Holmes, with which the man Blessington 
approached me. I won't weary you with the 
account of how we bargained and negotiated. 
It ended in my moving into the house next 
Lady Day and starting in practice on very 
much the same conditions as he had sug- 
gested. He came himself to live with me in 
the character of a resident patient His 
heart was weak, it appears, and he needed 
constant medical supervision. He turned 
the two best rooms on the first floor into a 
sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He 
was a man of singular habits, shunning com- 
pany and very seldom going out His life 
was irregular, but in one respect he was regu- 
larity itself. Every evening at the same hour 
he walked into the consulting-room, ex- 
amined the books, put dow T n five and three- 
pence for every guinea that I had earned, 
and carried the rest off to the strong box in 
his own room. 





l V- 

" I may say with confidence that he never 
had occasion to regret his speculation* From 
the first it was a success. A few good cases 
and the reputation which I had won in the 
hospital brought me rapidly to the front, and 
during the last few years I have made him a 
rich man* 

" So much, Mr, Holmes, for my past 
history and for my relations with Mr. Bless- 
ington. It only remains for me now to tell 
you what has occurred to bring me here 

u Some weeks ago Mr* Blessington came 
down to me in, as it seemed to me, a state 
of considerable agitation. He spoke of some 
burglar}' which, he said, had been committed 
in the West-end, and he appeared, I re- 
member, to be quite unnecessarily excited 
about it, declaring that a day should not pass 
before we should add stronger bolts to our 
windows and doors- For a week he continued 
to be in quite a peculiar state of rest- 
lessness, peering continually out of the 
windows, and ceasing to take the short 
walk which had 
usually been 
the prelude to 
h is dinner. 
From his man- 
ner it struck me 
that he was in 
mortal dread of 
something or 
somebody, but 
when I ques- 
tioned him 
upon the point 
he became so 
offensive that I 
was compelled 
to drop the 
subject Gradu- 
ally as time 
passed his fears 
appeared to die 
away, and he 
had renewed 
his f o r tner 
habits, when a 
fresh event re- 
duced him to 
the pitiable state 
of prostration 
in which he 
now lies. 

"What hap- 
pened was this. Two days ago 1 received 
the letter which I now read to you. Neither 
address nor date is attached to it 

" * A Russian nobleman who is now resi- 
dent in England/ it runs, 'would be glad 
to avail himself of the professional assistance 
of Dn Percy Trevelyan, He has been for 
some years a victim to cataleptic attacks, on 
which, as is well known, Dr« Trevelyan is an 
authority. He proposes to call at about a 
quarter-past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Tre- 
velyan will make it convenient to be at home.' 

" This letter interested me deeply, because 
the chief difficulty in the study of catalepsy 
is the rareness of the disease. You may 
believe, then, that I was irF~my consulting- 
room when, at the appointed hour, the page 
showed in the patient 

11 He was an elderly man, thin, demure, 
and commonplace — by no means the con- 
ception one forms of a Russian nobleman* 
I was much more struck hy the appearance of 
his companion- This was a tall young man, 
surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce 
face, and the limbs and chest of a Hercules. 
He had his hand under the other's arm as 
they entered, and helped him to a chair with 


a tenderness which one would hardly have 
expected from his appea ranee. 

iitmirt jin,Doc,or ' 



said he to me, speaking English with a slight 
lisp. ' This is my father, and his health is a 
matter of the most overwhelming importance 
to me.' 

" I was touched by this filial anxiety. 
' You would, perhaps, care to remain during 
the consultation/ said I. 

" ' Not for .he world,' he cried, with a 
gesture of horror. i It is more painful to me 
than I can express. If I were to see my . 
father in one of those dreadful seizures, I am 
convinced that I should never survive it 
My own nervous system is an exceptionally 
sensitive one. With your permission I will 
remain in the waiting-room while you go into 
my father's case.' 

" To this, of course, I assented, and the 
young man withdrew. The patient and I 
then plunged into a discussion of his case, 
of which I took exhaustive notes. He was 
not remarkable for intelligence, and his 
answers were frequently obscure, which I 
attributed to his limited acquaintance with 
our language. Suddenly, however, as I sat 
writing he ceased to give any answer at all to 
my inquiries, and on my turning towards him 
I was shocked to see that he was sitting bolt 
upright in his chair, staring at me with a 
perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again 
in the grip of his mysterious malady. 

" My first feeling, as I have just said, was 
one of pity and horror. My second, I fear, 
was rather one of professional satisfaction. 
I made notes of my patient's pulse and 
temperature, tested the rigidity of his muscles, 
and examined his reflexes. There was no- 
thing markedly abnormal in any of these 
x conditions, which harmonized with my former 
experiences. I had obtained good results in 
such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of 
amyl, and the present seemed an admirable 
opportunity of testing its virtues. The bottle 
was downstairs in my laboratory, so, leaving 
my patient seated in his chair, I ran down to 
get it. There was some little delay in finding 
it — five minutes, let us say — and then I 
returned. Imagine my amazement to find 
the room empty and the patient gone ! 

" Of course, my first act was to run into 
the waiting-room. The son had gone also. 
The hall door had been closed, but not shut. 
My page who admits patients is a new boy, 
and by no means quick. He waits, down- 
stairs, and runs up to show patients out ^hen 
I ring the consulting-room bell. He had 
heard nothing, and the affair remained a 
complete mystery. Mr. Blessington came in 
from his walk shortly afterwards, but I did 
not say anything to him upon the subject, for, 

to tell the truth, I have got in the way of late 
of holding as little communication with him 
as possible. 

" Well, I never thought that I should see 
anything more of the Russian and his son, so 
you can imagine my amazement when at the 
very same hour this evening they both came 
marching into my consulting-room, just as 
they had done before. 

11 ' I feel that I owe you a great many 
apologies for my abrupt departure yesterday, 
Doctor/ said my patient 

" 1 1 confess that I was very much surprised 
at it/ said I. 

"'Well, the fact is/ he remarked, 'that 
when I recover from these attacks my mind 
is always very clouded as to all that has gone 
before. I woke up in a strange room, as it 
seemed to me, and made my way out into 
the street in a sort of dazed way when you 
were absent.* 

" i And 1/ said the son, c seeing my father 
pass the door of the waiting-room, naturally 
thought that the consultation had come to an 
end. It was not until we had reached home 
that I began to realize the true state of affairs.' 

" ' Well/ said I, laughing, ' there is no harm 
done, except that you puzzled me terribly ; so 
if you, sir, would kindly step into the wait- 
ing-room, I shall be happy to continue our 
consultation, which was brought to so abrupt 
an ending.' 

" For half an hour or so I discussed the 
old gentleman's symptoms with him, and then, 
having prescribed for him, I saw him go off 
on the arm of his son. 

"I have told you that Mr. Blessington 
generally chose this hour of the day for his 
exercise. He came in shortly afterwards and 
passed upstairs. An instant later I heard 
him running down, and he burst into my 
consulting-room like a man who is mad with 

" l Who has been in my room ? ' he cried. 

" « No one/ said I. 

" 4 It's a lie ! ' he yelled. ' Come up and 

" I passed over the grossness of his language, 
as he seemed half out of his mind with fea^ 
When I went upstairs with him he pointed 
to several footprints upon the light carpet 

" ' D'you mean to say thqse are mine ? ' he 

"They were certainly very much larger 
than any which he could have made, and 
were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard 
this afternoon, as you know, and my patients 
were the only people who called. It must 
have been the case, then, that the man in the 



waiting-room had for some unknown reason, 
while I was busy with the other, ascended to 
the room of my resident patient. Nothing 
had been touched or taken, but there were the 
footprints to prove that the intrusion was an 
undoubted fact 

" Mr. Blessington seemed more excited 
over the matter than I should have thought 
possible, though, of course, it was enough to 
disturb anybody's peace of mind. He actually 
sat crying in an arm-chair, and I could hardly 
get him to speak coherently. It was his 
suggestion that I should come round to you, 
and of course I at once saw the propriety of 
it, for certainly the incident is a very singular 
one, though he appears to completely over- 
rate its importance. If you would only come 
back with me in my brougham, you would at 
least be able to soothe him, though I can 
hardly hope that you will be able to explain 
this remarkable occurrence/' 

Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long 
narrative with an intentncss which showed 
me that his interest was keenly aroused- His 
face was as impassive as ever, but his lids 
had drooped more heavily over his eyes, 
and his smoke had curled up more thickly 
from his pipe to emiihasize each curious 
episode in the doctor** tale. As our visitor 
concluded Holmes sprang up without a word, 
handed me my hat, picked up his own from 
the table, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the 
door. Within a quarter of an hfcur we had 
been dropped at the door of the physician's 
residence in Brook Street, one of those 

Vol. vi.-~ ta. 


sombre, fla t-fa ced 
houses which one 
associates with a 
West -end practice. 
A small page admit- 
ted us, and we began 
at once to ascend 
the broad, well- 
carpeted stair. 

But a singular in- 
terruption brought 
us to a standstill. 
The light at the 
top was suddenly 
whisked out, and 
from the darkness 
came a reedy, 
quavering voice, 

" I have a pistol," 
it cried ; ** I give 
you my word that 
I'll fire if you come 
any nearer." 

"This really grows 
outrageous, Mr* Blessington," cried Dr. 

"Oh, then it is you, Doctor?" said the 
voice, with a great heave of relief " But 
those other gentlemen, are they what they 
pretend to be ? " 

We were conscious of a long scrutiny out 
of the darkness. 

11 Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at 
last. " You can come up, and I am sorry if 
my precautions have annoyed you." 

He re -lit the stair gas as he spoke, and we 
saw before us a singular-looking man, whose 
appearance, as well as his voice, testified to 
his jangled nerves. He was very fat t but 
had apparently at some time been much 
fatter, so that the skin hung about his face 
in loose pouches, like the cheeks of a blood- 
hound. He was of a sickly colour, and his 
thin sandy hair seemed to bristle up with the 
intensity of his emotion. In his hand he 
held a pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket 
as we advanced. 

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," said he; 
" I am sure I am very much obliged to you 
for coming round. No one ever needed 
your advice more than I do. I suppose 
that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this 
most unwarrantable intrusion into my 

" Quite so," said Holmes. " Who are these 
two men, Mr. Blessington, and why do they 
wish to molest you ? " 

"Well, well," said! the resident patient, in a 
nervipi^fe^iWy- rteftflWIie/* is hard to say 





that. You can hardly expect me to answer 
that, Mr, Holmes." 

" Do you mean that you don't know?" 

" Come in here, if you please. Just have 
the kindness to step in here." 

He led the way into his bedroom, which 
was large and comfortably furnished, 

"You see that," said he, pointing to a big 
black hox at the end of his bed. " I have 
never been a very rich man, Mr. Holmes — 
never made but one investment in my life, as 
Dr. Trevelyan would tell you. But I don't 
believe in bankers, I would never trust a 
banker, Mr. Holmes. Between ourselves, 
what little I have is in that box, so you can 
understand what it means to me when un- 
known people force themselves into my 

Holmes looked at Blessington in his 
questioning way, and shook his head. 

" I cannot possibly advise you if you try to 
deceive me," said he, 

"But I have told you everything." 

Holmes turned on his heel with a gesture 
of disgust. "Good-night, Dr, Trevelyan," 
said he. 

" And no advice for me ? " cried Blessing- 
toa, in a breaking voice. 

" My advice to you, sir, is to speak the 

A minute later we were in the street and 
walking for home. We had crossed Oxford 
Street, and were half-way down Harley 

Street before I could get a word from my 

" Sorry to bring you out on such a fooPs 
errand, Watson," he said at last. " It is an 
interesting case, too, at the bottom of it," 

H I can make little of it," I confessed. 

"Well, it is quite evident that there are 
two men — more, perhaps, but at least two — - 
who are determined for some reason to get 
at this fellow Blessington. I have no doubt 
in my mind that both on the ftfstqnd on the 
second occasion that young man penetrated 
to Blessington's room, while his confederate, 
by an ingenious device, kept the doctor from 

" And the catalepsy ! n 

" A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I 
should hardly dare to hint as much to our 
specialist. It is a very easy complaint to 
imitate. I have done it myself." 

"And then?" 

41 By the purest chance Blessington was 
out on each occasion. Their reason for 
choosing so unusual an hour for a consulta- 
tion was obviously to insure that there should 
be no other patieift in the waiting-room. 
It just happened, however, that this hour 
coincided with Blessington 's constitutional, 
which seems to show that they were not very 
well acquainted with his daily routine. Of 
course, if they had been merely after plunder 
they would at -least have made some attempt 
to selmm'roiHitl 'JBesliesI -j£ Ifcan read in a 



man's eye when it is his own skin that he is 
frightened for. It is inconceivable that this 
fellow could have made two such vindictive 
enemies as these appear to be without 
knpwing of it I hold it, therefore, to be 
certain that he does know who these men 
are, and that for reasons of his own he 
suppresses it. It is just possible that to- 
morrow may find him in a more communica- 
tive mood." 

" Is there not one alternative," I suggested, 
"grotesquely improbable, no doubt, but still 
just conceivable ? Might the whole story of 
the cataleptic Russian and his son be a con- 
coction of Dr. Trevelyan's, who has, for his 
own purposes, been in Blessington's rooms ? " 

I saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an 
amused smile at this btflliant departure of 

" My dear fellow," said he, " it was one of 
the first solutions which occurred to me, but 
I was soon able to corroborate the doctor's 
tale. This young man has left prints upon 
the stair carpet which made it quite super- 
fluous for me to ask to see those which he 
had made in the room. When I tell you 
that his shoes were square-toed, instead of 
being pointed like Blessington's, and were 
quite an inch and a third longer than the 
doctor's, you will acknowledge that there can 
be no doubt as to his individuality. But we 
may sleep on it now, for I shall be*"feurprised 
if we do not hear something further from 
Brook Street in the morning." 

Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon ful- 
filled, and in a dramatic fashion. At half- 
past seven next morning, in the first dim 
glimmer of daylight, I found him standing 
by my bedside in his dressing-gown. 

" There's a brougham waiting for us, 
Watson," said he. 

" What's the matter, then ? " 

" The Brook Street business." 

" Any fresh news ? " 

"Tragic but ambiguous," said he, pulling 
up the blind. " Look at this — a sheet from 
a notebook with ' For God's sake, come at 
once — P. T.' scrawled upon it in pencil. 
Our friend the doctor was hard put to it 
when he wrote this. Come along, my dear 
fellow, for it's an urgent call." 

In a quarter of an hour or so we were back 
at the physician's house. He came running 
out to meet us with a face of horror. 

" Oh, such a business ! " he cried, with his 
hands to his temples. 

"What, then?" 

" Blessington has committed suicide ! " 

Holmes whistled. 

" Yes, he hanged himself during the night." 

We had entered, and the doctor had 
preceded us into what was evidently his 

" I really hardly know what I am doing," 
he cried. " The police are already upstairs. 
It has shaken me most dreadfully." 

"When did you find it out? " 

" He has a cup of tea taken in to him 
early every morning. \Y 7 hen the maid entered 
about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was 
hanging in the middle of the room. He had 
tied his cord to the hook on which the heavy 
lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off 
from the top of the very box that he showed 
us yesterday." 

Holmes stood for a moment in deep 

" With your permission," said he at last, 
" I should like to go upstairs and look into 
the matter." We both ascended, followed 
by the doctor. 

It was a dreadful sight which met us as we 
entered the bedroom door. I have spoken 
of the impression of flabbiness which this 
man Blessington conveyed. As he dangled 
from the hook it was exaggerated and inten- 
sified until he was scarce human in his 
appearance. The neck was drawn out 
like a plucked chicken's, making the rest of 
him seem the more obese and unnatural by 
Ihe contrast. He was clad only in his long 
night-dress, and his swollen ankles and 
ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath 
it. Beside him stood a smart -looking 
police inspector, who was taking notes in 
a pocket-book." 

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he, heartily, as my 
friend entered. " I am delighted to see 

"Good morning, Lanner," answered 
Holmes. " You won't think me an intruder, 
I am sure. Have you heard of the events 
which led up to this affair?" 

"Yes, I heard something of them." 

" Have you formed any opinion ? " 

" As far as I can see, the man has been 
driven out of his senses by fright. The 
bed has been well slept in, you see. There's 
his impression deep enough. It's about five 
in the morning, you know, that suicides are 
most common. That would be about his 
time for hanging himself. It seems to have 
been a very deliberate affair." 

" I should say that he has been dead about 
three hours, judging by the rigidity of the 
muscles," saidjihal 

"llfllVtPil T 2 ^ 11 ®^ WSZ HRSW ,iar about the 

room ? " asked Holmes. 



" Found a screwdriver and some screws on 
the wash-hand stand* Seems to have smoked 
heavily during the night, too. Here are four 
cigar ends that I picked out of the fireplace." 

" Hum ! " said Holmes. " Have you got 
his cigar-holder ? " 

" No, I have seen none/' 

" His cigar-case, then ? " 

u Yes, it was in his coat pocket-" 

Holmes opened it and smelled the single 
cigar which it contained* 

"Oh, this is a 
Havana, and these 
others are cigars of the 
peculiar sort which are 
imported by the Dutch 
from their East Indian 
colonies. They are 
usually wrapped in 
straw, you know, and 
are thinner for their 
length than any other 
brand" He picked up 
the four ends and ex- 
amined them with his 
pocket lens, 

" Two of these have 
been smoked from a 
holder and two without," 
said he. "Two have 
been cut by a not very 
sharp knife, and two 
have had the ends 
bitten off by a set of 
excellent teeth. This 
is no suicide, Mr. Lan- 
ner. It is a very deeply- 
planned and cold- 
blooded murder." 

" Impossible ! " cried 
the inspector. 

" And why ? " 

"Why should anyone 
murder a man in so 
clumsy a fashion as by 
hanging him ? T 

"That is what we have to find out" 

" How could they get in ? " 

*' Through the front door.*' 

" It was barred in the morning." 

" Then it was barred after them," 

" How do you know ? " 

"I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, 
and I may be able to give you some further 
information about it" 

He went over to the door, and turning the 
lock he examined it in his methodical 
fashion* Then he took out the key, which 
was on the inside, and inspected that also. 


The bed, the carpet, the chairs, the mantel- 
piece, the dead body, and the rope were each 
in turn examined, until at last he professed 
himself satisfied, and with my aid and that 
of the inspector cut down the wretched 
object, and laid it reverently under a sheet* 
" How about this rope ? " he asked. 
"It is cut off this," said Dr, Trevelyan, 
drawing a large coil from under the bed. 
" He was morbidly nervous of fire, and 
always kept this beside him, so that he might 
escape by the window 
in case the stairs were 

"That must have 
saved them trouble," 
said Holmes^ thought- 
fully. *' Yes, the actual 
facts are very plain, and 
I shall be surprised 
if by the afternoon I 
cannot give you the 
reasons for them as well. 
I will take this photo- 
graph of Blessington 
which I see upon the 
mantelpiece, as it may 
helpme in myinquirius/ 1 
"But you have told 
us nothing," cried the 

" Oh, there can be no 
doubt as to the sequence 
of events," said Holmes. 
"There were three of 
them in it : the young 
man, the old man, and 
a third to whose identity 
I have no clue The 
first two, I need hardly 
remark, are the same 
who masqueraded as the 
Russian Count and his 
son, so w r e can give a 
very full description of 
them, They were 
admitted by a confederate inside the house. 
If I might offer you a word of advice, 
Inspector, it would be to arrest the page, 
who, as I understand, has only recently 
come into your service, Doctor." 

" The young imp cannot be found," said 
Dr Trevelyan ; " the maid and the cook have 
just been searching for him," 
Holmes shrugged his shoulders, 
"He has played a not unimportant part 
in this drama, 3 ' said he- "The three men 
having ascended the vAalf, which they did on 
tiptoe, ^|¥feH^F^rtte^P un g er man 




second, and the unknown man in the 
rear " 

" My dear Holmes ! " I ejaculated. 

" Oh, there could be no question as to the 
superimposing of the footmarks, I had the 
advantage of learning which was which last 
night. They ascended then to Mr. 
Blessington's room, the door of which they 
found to be locked. With the help of a wire, 
however, they forced round the key. Even 
without a lens, you will perceive by the 
scratches on this ward where the pressure w + as 

" On entering the room, their first proceed- 
ing must have been to gag Mr, Blessing ton. 
He may have been asleep, or he may have 
been so paralyzed with terror as to have been 
unable to cry out. These walls are thick, 
and it is conceivable that his shriek, if he 
had time to utter one, was unheard, 

" Having secured him, it is evident to me 
that a consultation of some sort was held. 
Probably it was something in the nature of a 
judicial proceeding. It must have lasted for 
some time, for it was then that these cigars 
were smoked. The older man sat in that 
w r icker chair : it w T as he who used the cigar- 
holder. The 
younger man sat 
over yonder : he 
knocked his ash 
off against the 
chest of drawers. 
The third fellow 
paced up and 
down. Blessing- 
ton, I think, sat 
upright in the bed, 
but of that I can- 
not be absolutely 

1( Well, it ended 
by their taking 
Bkssington and 
hanging him. The 
matter was so pre- 
arranged that it is 
my belief that they 
brought with them 
some sort of block 
or pulley which 
might serve as a 
gallows. That 
screwdriver and 
those screws were, 
as I conceive, for 
fixing it up. Seeing 
the hook, however, 
they naturally 

saved themselves the trouble. Having finished 
their work they made off, and the door was 
barred behind them by their confederate/ 3 

We had all listened with thu deepest 
interest to this sketch of the night's doings, 
which Holmes had deduced from signs so 
subtle and minute, that even when he had 
pointed them out to us, we could scarcely 
follow him in his reasonings. The inspector 
hurried away on the instant to make 
^inquiries about the page, while Holmes and 
I returned to Baker Street for breakfast. 

"I'll be back by three," said he when we 
had finished our meah " Both the inspector 
and the doctor will meet me here at that 
hour, and I hope by that time to have cleared 
up any little obscurity which the case may 
still present." 

Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, 
but it was a quarter to four before my friend 
put in an appearance. From his expression 
as he entered, however, I could see that all 
had gone well with him. 

"Any news, Inspector? " 

"We have got the boy, sir," 

" Excellent, and I have got the men." 

" You have got them ! " we cried all three. 

-o^ C 

Original from 
,...■■« JilW^WatMICHIGAN 



" Well, at least I have got their identity. 
This so-called Blessington is, as I expected, 
well known at headquarters, and so are his 
assailants. Their names are Biddle, Hay- 
ward, and Moffat." 

" The Worthingdon bank gang," cried the 

" Precisely," said Holmes. 

"Then Blessington must have been 
Sutton ?" 

" Exactly," said Holmes. 

" Why, that makes it as clear as crystal," 
said the inspector. 

But Trevelyan and I looked at each other 
in bewilderment. 

"You must surely remember the great 
Worthingdon bank business," said Holmes ; 
" five men were in it, these four and a fifth 
called Cartwright. Tobin, the caretaker, was 
murdered, and the thieves got away with 
seven thousand pounds. This was in 1875. 
They were all five arrested, but the evidence 
against them was by no means conclusive. 
This Blessington, or Sutton, who was the 
worst of the gang, turned informer. On his 
evidence, Cartwright was hanged and the 
other three got fifteen years apiece. When 
they got out the other day, which was 
some years before their full term, they 
set themselves, as you perceive, to hunt 
down the traitor and to avenge the death 
of their comrade upon him. Twice they 
tried to get at him and failed ; a third 
time, you see, it came off. Is there any- 

thing further which I can explain, Dr. 
Trevelyan ? " , 

" I think you have made it all remarkably 
clear," said the doctor. " No doubt the day 
on which he was so perturbed was the day 
when he had read of their release in the 

" Quite so. His talk about a burglary was 
the merest blind." 

" But why could he not tell you this ? " 

" Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive 
character of his old associates, he was trying 
to hide his own identity from everybody as 
long as he could. His secret was a shameful 
one, and he could not bring himself to 
divulge it. However, wretch as he was, he 
was still living under the shield of British law, 
and I have no doubt, Inspector, that you will 
see that, though that shield may fail to guard, 
the sword of justice is still there to avenge." 

Such were the singular circumstances in 
connection with the resident patient and the 
Brook Street doctor. From that night 
nothing has been seen of the three murderers 
by the police, and it is surmised at Scotland 
Yard that they were among the passengers of 
the ill-fated steamer Norah Creina, which 
was lost some years ago with all hands upon 
the Portuguese coast, some leagues to the 
north of Oporto. The proceedings against 
the page broke down for want of evidence, 
and the " Brook Street Mystery," as it was 
called, has never, until now, been fully dealt 
with in any public print 

by Google 

Original from 



4 *, S*fc*Kfc^-4i 


A SENSE of humour is a vastly 
saving grace. Long has it saved 
all the Corvidse from extermina- 
tion at the hands of outraged 
man. The raven, the jackdaw, 
the magpie, the rook — what 
would their thievishneas, their 
malignant mischief, earn were it 
not for their sense of humour? 
Thieves all, they are still Artful 
Dodgers and Charley Bateses, 
and we smile though they 
snateh our 




very dinnei\ The snatching of the 
dinner from somebody else's jaws, 
friend's or enemy's, is the main 
plot * of most of the raven's 

jokes, causing him also to 

secrete a spare morsel in sgj£ 
the baggy part of his 
lower beak, when other 

Extreme quickness lends additional quaintne 

the pranks of the 

raven, The ravens 

at the Zoo, ever 

changing in fier- 

sonmfi remain true 

to a sort of mixed 

game of coddam 

and hunt the slipper. 

Let one of their number produce his stored 
morsel, and instantly it has been snatched, snatched, and snatched 

again, all along the line and 

back. With whom it at last rests 

only one mortal creature knows 

the raven who has it. In him a 

natural exultation struggles with an attempt to look as though he 

had lost the tit-bit In the others the chagrin of loss wars with a 

desire to look triumphant; so that the net result is a very level 

appearance of general stolidity. 

Sardonic joker as he is, the raven has an immense sense of 
p rsonal dignity. He is the greatest of the Corvidse, and he 
knows it. Not for him the scrambling hilarity of his small cousin, 
the jackdaw. Don't injure the raven's self-esteem, or he will be 
revenged, at some time or another. I have known a tame.raven 
wait for months fur an opportunity of plucking off, before Ar-'llflffi 5 ' 
company, the wig of a lady of doubtful age who hadJ W4ftfifeb4Tf bO F 






him disrespectfully as "that thieving beast 1 ' 
Also, when an innocent little boy at the 
Zoo has asked his mother if the raven 
were a blackbird, I have observed a look 
of indignation that carried with it a distinct 
threat to bite that little boy ? s little red legfc 
Never will a raven forget his dignity. 
Even a raven in love won't do it. 

He has, after all, considerable excuse 
for pride. A bird on such familiar 
terms with the great Odin as to sit on 
his shoulder every evening and retail 
to him the day's gossip is naturally 
proud- One Scandinavian legend men- 
tions two such ravens, but I imagine 
that they are a sort of prophetic allegory, 
intended to typify successive editions 
of the evening paper, The belief in 
the raven as a bird of ill-omen prob- 
ably arose from the fact that he was never 
known to turn up anywhere without stealing 
something, or doing mischief in some other 
way; just as one may consider a nitro- 
glycerine bomb an unlucky article to find on the cellar stairs. His fame as a prophet— and 

he was chief of the ancient augurs— may be due to 
many things. Perhaps he had a wrinkle or two from 
Elijah in recognition of the supply of provisions ; or 
he may even have felt a motive for his generosity 
in a certain fellow-feeling ; which would at 
least seem a plausible conjecture, since other- 
wise it is impossible to conceive of his refraining 
from stealing the supplies en route. 

Travis is the keeper of the crows' cages, as 
a No of the great Western A% !f iar)\ He is a 
most surprising authority on birds, and is no 
fledgeling himself; he is the oldest keeper m 
the service, as his " No, 1 " testifies, and 
has been here since the year 1851. I 
have been lingering over the name 
" Travis " for some time, separating it thought- 
fully into T. JL Avis, with an ultimate idea of a 
pun, or an acrostic, 
or a rebus, or a 
charade, or conundrum, or something of the kind, but have 
regretfully given up the notion. Still, considering his almost 
unique knowledge of birds — not to mention the ability of his 
brother as a bird-stuffer— I think Travis might arrange, by 
deed-poll, for some such name as Terrae Rara Avis, if the 
equal mutilation of name and catch-phrase be tolerated 

Among the many curious birds in the domain of Travis is 
the laughing jackass* Now, there are several reasons why 
something should be said here of the laughing jackass. In 
the first place, this is a Zig-zag, and since it is headed " Zig- 
zag Corvine," it is proper and in accordance with the 
correct spirit of Zig-zaggedness that something should be 
included that isn't corvine at all. Moreover, it is fitting 
that a bird which is called a jackass and is indeed a king- 
fisher, and being a kingfisher doesn't catch fish, should be 
classed with something that is neither jackass nor king- 

Vol. vi.-19. 



by LiGOgl< 

Jnginal from 



fisner nor fish, to carry out 
the original principle. 

The laughing jackass is a 
broad low-comedy sort of bird, 
who usually makes your acquaint- 
ance in a little game 
of spoof of his own. 
He knows that you 
have come to the 
cage to hear him 
laugh, so he won't 
do it But in order 
to keep you there in 
expectancy as long 
as possible, he pre- 
tends to have dis- 
covered an enemy, or 
something to eat, or 
the ghost of some other 
jackass, close by. He 
stares intently at nothing, and 
then turns round and inspects 
it on the other side. He 
crouches cautiously on his 
perch and looks at it cornerwise. 
He organizes an elaborate plan of 
strategy, and makes a beginning of 
approaching nothing on tip-toe. 
He finds that it has observed him, 
and forthwith ducks his head and 
looks out warily. It moves, and 
he follows it intently with his eyes ; 
he seems about to spring at 
nothing, and you become excited j 


when he suddenly lets it go 
and grins at you, and you 
realize that you are sold. 

The laughing jackass is 
not a distinguished joker, 
like the raven. He is a very 
frantic sort of buffoon ; one 
who imagines he has a funny reputa- 
tion to maintain, and who strains to 
maintain it at all hazards. Which is 
why he bursts into his demoniac laugh 
at certain regular times of the day — 
a habit which has earned 
him the unflattering name 
of the "Settlers' Clock." 
The fact is, he has been 
trying for hours, unsuccess- 
fully, to think of a joke, and 
laughs to make the world be- 
lieve that he has made one* 
It is noticeable that with 
these birds laughing is highly 
infectious, and that when 
one starts the rest join at 
once, each trying to outscream 
the others. Every individual 
is trying to claim the joke 
for himself. Personally, I 
incline to the belief that the 
laughing jackass, as a tribe, 
has only one joke. Mutual 
admiration societies are 
formed, and the members 

by Google 



Original from 



tell each other this joke in turn* and 
laugh unanimously. You may see the 
system in operation here. One bird 
will burst upon a few friends with 
the air of a breathless discoverer and a 
vast number of chuckles. He tells the 

ancestral joke, in confidence, to jack" 
ass the second, Then the two scream 
and choke with de- 
lirious laughter, and 
the joke is passed on 

to jackass the third, and so forth — 
and fifth, and sixth— till every jack- 
ass is screaming for a minute to- 
gether, till the regular amount of 
mutual admiration has been ex- 

Digitized by Google 

pended, and they stop 
suddenly and cock their 
beaks demurely for the 
approbation of visitors. 

For the laughing jack- 
ass's own sake, I wouldrVt 
introduce him to a raven ; 
because the jackass would 
be sure to repeat the joke 
to his new acquaintances and the raven, 
a sardonic and superior joker, would 
be apt to deal savagely with him ; and 
this more because of the badness of 
the joke than its age* I know a raven 
named Elijah (there would appear to 
have been some confusion 
of Scriptural history at his 
christening) who would be 
a bad subject for the 
laughing jackass's joke. 
He is not at the Zoo, but 
in private ownership, which is a great deal 
the worse in general devilment for the 
private owner, although he hasn't discovered 
it for himself yet Elijah's chief delight, by 
the way, is to run loose in a flower garden 
or a conservatory, where 

the surroundings may be 

_ reduced to a salad in about 

five minutes, " Do you 

^Sh*^v2> know why they call me a 

laughing jackass ? " Dacth 

gxgarJea might ask Elijah ; 




for this conundrum, I am convinced, is the ancestral wheeze. " Perhaps it's because you're a 
jackass to laugh so much," Elijah would say, severely. " No, you're wrong ! " would scream 
that fatuous kingfisher. " It's 
because they think Jack — as 
good as any other name ! 
Ha ! ha ! How's that ? Isn't 
Jackass good as his master ? " 
and he would guffaw deli- 
riously while Elijah sharpened 
his big beak. "H'm," Elijah 
would grunt, with savage 
calmness, when the laugh was 
over. "Just make another 
joke like that, will you?" 
And the unhappy jackass 


HA I HA ! 

would have to save himself as best 

he might. 

The laughing jackass is all 
very well as a chorus, but 
he can't sustain a separate 
low-comedy part The raven 
can, the jackdaw and the 
magpie can, the jay can, and 
even the rook and the ordi- 
nary crow have their humour- 
some talents. The chaplain 
crow becomes a very passable 
Stiggins, under the influence 
of the sun, which acts as his 
pineapple rum. Hot sunshine 
opens the mouth of the 

chaplain crow, and causes a rolling of 
the head and eyes, suggestive of a 
lachrymose sermon ; and a spasmodic 
croak that is an overcharged rant by 
itself. You grow more serious 
at each step nearer the chaplain 
crow on these occasions, and 
you pull up with a start at the 
thought of a collection. I am 
not sure that much of his 
distress is not caused by the 
laughing jackasses, who have *"* 
an impious practice of laugh- 
ing at their conundrum on 
Sunday. There is a temptation 
to call the three worst offenders 
among the jackasses Tom, and 
Bob, and Billy, and the chaplain 
crow Sir Macklin, by compliment or with apologies to the " Bab Ballads " ; but, in good 
truth, there is no other name for the chaplain crow but Stiggins. f..His white choker is 





ragged and soiled and pulled askew on his necL 

You look at him for long 
with an indefinite conviction 
that something is wanting 
in his equipment A red 

beak would be an improvement, certainly, 
and to secure it a cross with the chough 

might be tried ; but what you really 
miss in Stiggins is a black bottle and 
a bad umbrella, 

The raven was once white, Ovid 
tells us, but Apollo turned him black 

for tale-bearing. The rook and the crow 
must have told tales, too, unless Apollo 
condemned the lot al once 3 from un- 

certainty as to the actual culprit. 
The magpie and the chaplain crow 
are only partly black — offence not 
specified. Perhaps they told white 

lies. Here at the Zoo 
are two perfectly white 
jackdaws t and I have 
spent some time in an 
effort to discover for what 
conspicuously virtuous 
exploit they have been so 
distinguished, I can find 
nothing in their histories 

3y Google 

WICKED TOM Aȣi|BP4J|wri fr&YVl 




greatly to distinguish them from other jackdaws except 
the colour of their feathers. I have known many jack- 
daws and have possessed a few, but cannot, by any 
effort, imagine one of them doing anything particularly 
virtuous ; jackdaws by nature are not intended to be 
pious. I have a jackdaw now who is a most interesting 
and pleasing thief, liar, and bully, but he neglects the 
more usual moral qualities. As a thief and a liar his 
performances are probably no more remarkable than 
those of other jackdaws, but as a bully he has ways 
of his own. He bullies every living thing with less 
brains than himself, irrespective of size, and eats such 
of thern as are small enough. He hectors cats tre- 
mendously — merely by force of superior intellect, 
When a cat perceives a bird — the size of some she 
is in the habit of trying to catch — pelting headlong 
toward her down a garden-path, with furious eyes 
and beak, shouting " Hullo, Jack ! Shut up ! 
Shut up ! Come along, old girl ! Hi ! hi I 
hi \ " — that cat has some excuse for hastily 
retiring over the wall to think things 
over ; and Jack cocks his head and 
chuckles. He bullies dogs when they 
will allow it; when he meets one that 
won't, he finds a safe perch and abuses 
him violently. He will even bully a 
housemaid who is afraid of having her 
heels pecked. Once he went on a visit 
and tried to bully Elijah, but that was 
very nearly being another tale. Elijah is 
not the sort of bird anyone would bully 
for pastime, and Jack found speed as 
useful as Intellect, for once in a way. 
But if he came to the Zoo to-morrow, he 
would probably begin by bullying Jung 
Per chad. 

The raven was never meant to be 
bullied, He is a wag, certainly, but a 
wag of a satanie sort. His very chuckle 
is fierce \ and when the heat makes him 
open his mouth to pant, it isn't with a 
lachrymation, as the chaplain crow, nor 
with a grin, as the magpie, but with a 

severe and business-like 
seriousness , that says 
plainly that somebody's 
heels must be bitten 
for this ; preferably, I 
imagine, Apollo's, as the 




Original from 



and in 

[Oil « %&&Y f * Z Jl i I «' VTf '■ • 

gentleman that drives the sun \ and who, also, first 
made the raven as black as he could possibly be 
painted The full age of the raven is not known, 
the belief of many he shares with the 
the reputation of immortality. Notwith- 
standing which, Charles Dickens had a 
raven that died of too free indulgence 
in white paint 

Like many another wag ? the raven hates 
nothing so much as looking ridiculous; 
wherefore, in his private moments he prac- 
s dignity, It is the last thing one would 
expect of the raven^ but 
he does it. Watch the 
occasion and you may ob- 
serve him carefully prac- 
tising a graceful and 



imposing emerging spring 

he knows of nobody look- 
ing. And, in truth, the practised raven 'has a 
courtly bow, but it requires preparation and training. 
Betray your presence after he has substituted a 
downer with his nose for the stately bow and strut 
he had intended, and you will humiliate him as even 
plucking would not ; and send him into retirement 
with a longing to snatch your watch. 

^- £k,*^***^*^ 

by Google 

Original from 

By Richard Marsh. 


BONVICT'S escaped!" 
"Oh— when?" 
" I^ast night Didn't you 
hear the guns ? fi 

I had not heard them. I 
don't think that Ted had 
heard them, either, We had not gone to bed 
with the intention of lying awake to listen to 

We sat down to breakfast, Ted and I, 
thinking rather of the food in front of us 
than of the unfortunate or fortunate individual 
who, according to our landlord, had quitted 
Princetown Prison, in the small hours of the 
morning, without first going through the 
form of obtaining his host's permission. But 
the landlord was full of the subject He went 
on talking while we went on eating. 

"They'll catch him, safe enough. I've 
been here a few years, and I've seen a few of 
"em escape, I tell you. But IVe never known 
one that wasn't brought back yet You see, 
there's five pounds to anyone who gives 
the screws the office — they call the warders 
'screws/ them chaps up here. So pretty 
near everyone's hand's against them. And 
then Princetown isn't like Mill bank. You 
can't drop over the wall and find a pal waiting 
for you round the corner. It's when they're 
out that their troubles begin. They don't 
know their way about Dartmoor any more 
than they know their way about the moon." 

Mr, Pethick paused to take in a little 


breath. So Ted asked a question : u Have 
you heard who it is has got away ? " 

Mr. Pethick winked. 

" They keep that dark just at first, you 
know. They like to lay their hands upon 
him before anybody gets to know who it is 
has tried to slip his collar. But I was told it 
was a * lifer * — a chap who, if he'd got his 
rights, w r ould have been hung, I shouldn't 
be surprised if he made a bit of a fight for it 
before he lets them lay their hands on him." 

Ted I ^ne and I were staying at a certain 
little inn within two miles of Princetown 
Prison, which is not unknown to brethren of 
the rod and the line, and of the palette and 
the brush- It stands just at the junction of 
the tiny stream which they call the River 
Cowsick with the River Dart ; in the heart 
of a country whichj at least in summer, is 
as beautiful as it is wild, We had gone 
there ostensibly to sketch, but we had done 
a little fishing, and to tell the truth, I don J t 
think that we had done much of either. 

I was a lazy man in those days. I don't 
know that I am much more hard-working 

But that particular day we had planned a 
ten -mile walk over the moor — ten miles out 
and ten miles home— to lirme Head And 
if we felt in the mood, and not too lazy, and 
that sort of thing, we had vague intentions 
of pushing on to Red Lake, about a mile 
farther on. 

It was good walking weather t a clear sky 




overhead, and just breeze enough to keep 
one cool ; and 1 need scarcely observe that 
we did not allow the fact of a man having 
escaped from the convict establishment at 
the top of the hill to make any alteration in 
our plaus* 

The man, however, seemed to be running 
in Mr* Pethick ? s mind. There is not much 
to talk about at Two Bridges except the 
weather, and an escape from Prince town is 
undoubtedly an event 

H You are sure to meet him," our landlord 
remarked, as we set out. I will only hint 
that if I had only been as sure of this as 
our host professed to be, at least one of 
those pedestrians would have stayed at horr^ 
I am not at all sure that the stay-at-homes 
would not have extended to two, I am not 
a thief-catcher, I had no desire to earn five 
pounds by what Mr. Pe thick had termed 
" giving the ' screws ' the * office* ' ,f As 
for the members of the criminal classes, 
I have always felt that the less I have to do 
with them, the better I am pleased- 1 do 
not know how it is with other men. It has 
always been that way with me, And I am 
sure — on that point there cannot be the 
slightest possible doubt !— that if I had 
anticipated having an interview, in the 
remotest and most secluded fastnesses of 
wild Dartmoor, with a gentleman who would 
have been hung "if he had had his rights," 
I, for one, should have postponed that little 
excursion sine dk~ Indeed, I should not 
have minded if it had never 
come off at all. Ted Lane, 
however, gave me the im- 
pression that he was not of 
my way of thinking, I am 
persuaded that if you had 
listened to the remarks which 
he made as we went along 
— casual remarks, as it were 
■ — you would have supposed, 
as I supposed at the time, 
that nothing would have 
given him greater pleasure 
than to capture, or recapture, 
all the inmates of Princetown 
Prison single-handed. Nor 
do I deny that I might have 
dropped a hint, a distant 
hint, that under certain cir- 
cumstances I should do, or 
endeavour to do, my duty to 
my Queen and to my country, 
But when Ted Lane declares, 
as he since has declared, 
that I said that I should 

Vol. ^-20, 

be only too glad, five pounds or no five 
pounds, to have a chance of taking the 
blood-stained villain by the throat, and 
'* scrunching the life right out of him ! " he 
libels me* I hope and I believe, in fact 1 
know, that I would " scrunch the life " out 
of no man, whether convict or, so to speak, 

We had gone five miles, it may be ; per- 
haps a little more, because we had passed 
For Tor. We were not talking about con- 
victs — nothing of the kind. We were in the 
middle of a discussion about the Whistlerian 
theories of art, when I turned round, the 
better to get a light to my pipe* As I turned 
I saw, or thought I saw, someone or 
something drop down behind a hillock 
some two hundred yards away. But as I 
continued to look steadily in that direction 
and saw nothing and no one, I concluded 
that I was mistaken, and that some chance 
object had deceived my eye. Having lit my 
pipe, I rejoined I^ine, who had gone on and 
was a few yards ahead. 

We resumed the thread of our discussion ; 
but as we argued I could not rid myself of the 
impression that, after all, I might not have 
been mistaken, and that someone had dropped 
down behind the hillock. To make quite 
sure, I glanced backwards, over my shoulder 
As I did so I gave an exclamation. 

" What's the matter ? " inquired Ted 

I had stood still and turned, He also 
stood still and turned 

Original from* 1 



" It's very queer," I said, " but I could 
v have sworn that I saw somebody peeping 
over the top of that hillock." 

"Which hillock?" 

" That one — with the patch of gorse at the 

Ted looked in the direction in which I 

11 There's nothing there." 

It was true that there was nothing there just 
then ; but if there had not been something 
there a moment before, then I had been 
the, victim of an optical delusion, and of an 
optical delusion of a curious kind. But for 
some reason, on which I need not dwell, I 
did not altogether relish the idea of there 
being someone in that wild place who, while 
he was anxious to look at us, was even more 
anxious that we should not look at him. 
So I did not think it worth while to insist 
that I could scarcely have been twice de- 
ceived, in broad daylight, in such a very 
singular manner. 

Ted went on talking in his light-hearted 

"You were dreaming, my dear fellow." 
He recommenced his forward march. "In 
Whistler's portrait of his mother " 

My thoughts were not with Whistler's 
portrait of his mother. They were behind 
my back. As Ted went prosing on, I gave 
another glance over my shoulder. What I 
saw — well ! I do not wish to use exaggerated 
language, so I will not say that it made my 
blood run cold, but I do affirm that it did not 
increase my sense of comfort. I saw that a 
man was following us, as it seemed to me, 
upon his hands and knees. He must have 
been well on the alert, because directly I 
looked round he dropped down, so that he 
lay concealed among the ferns and grasses. 
But I had seen him, though he might not 
think it. Upon that point I had no 

I was at a loss as to what was the best 
course to pursue. I am aware that it may 
seem obvious enough on paper. I can only 
state that I did not find it quite so obvious 
in fact. I am not a fighting man, and what is 
more, I never have been. I do not know 
that that is anything to be ashamed of, 
though, to listen to some people, and to 
some ostensibly respectable people, you would 
think that it was. There is nothing I object 
to so much as a row ; and, in fact, although 
I may be an artist, I am a peace-loving and 
peace -abiding citizen. And I defy even a 
cross-examining barrister to prove that I am 

After a few moments of what I will call 
inward meditation, I gathered myself together, 
moistened my lips, and said, "Ted!" 

" Yes ? " He looked at me. I suppose 
he saw that there was something in my face. 
"What's up?" 

" Keep cool, old man." 

" Keep cool ! What do you mean ? " I 
caught his arm. 

" Don't turn. Perhaps it would be as well 
not to let him think we see him." 

" See him ? See whom ? " 

" Keep cool. Don't get excited, Ted." I 
dropped my voice to what I have seen 
described as a "lurid" whisper. "The 
gentleman who escaped from Princetown last 
night is just behind. He's following us." 

I used the word " gentleman " advisedly : 
because, although, of course, I knew that he 
could not hear what we were saying, still I 
did not wish him even to think that we were 
using towards him the language of dis- 

I had not imagined that my observation 
would have had the effect it did have upon 
Ted Lane. He pulled up short. 

" Don't stop," I said. " Don't let him think 
we've noticed him." 

Ted went on again, as it seemed to me, a 
little hurriedly. 

" You're sure it's the man ? " 

" Quite sure." 

"Where is he?" 

" I don't know where he is now. When I 
just looked back he was rather more, perhaps, 
than fifty yards behind us." 

" Fifty yards ? That all ? Why is he fol- 
lowing us ? " 

" I'm sure I don't know why he's following 
us. I say, Ted, I wish you wouldn't walk 
so fast I can scarcely keep up with you." 

" I'm not walking fast." I did not see 
how he could walk much faster, unless he 
ran. But I said nothing. I did my best to 
keep at his side. 

After we had walked a dozen or twenty 
yards at the rate of about seven miles an 
hour, Ted gasped out : — 

" What sort of man is he ? " 

" I didn't see. I only just had a peep at 

" Look where he is ! " 

"Then don't go tearing off like that." 

I caught him by the arm, to make sure 
that he did not walk on and leave me behind. 
I glanced behind. As I did so I uttered an 
exclamation. What I saw was enough to 
make any man exclaim. A truculent-looking 
scoundrel^ apparently pfrout -^gfrt feet high, 



attired m the hideous costume of a convict, 
was striding after us us if he were in pos- 
session of the seven league boots> and was 
wearing them just then, 

My exclamation caused Ted to look behind 
him, When he saw that murderous-looking 
monster bearing down upon us in a manner 
which inevitably suggested a bloodthirsty 
j) irate bearing down upon an inoffensive 
trading craft, Ted tore his arm out of my 
grasp, and> without giving me the slightest 
hint of what his intentions were, made off as 
fast as his legs would carry him. When that 
convict saw that Ted had taken to his heels, 
he took to his, and, of course, when he took 
to his heels, I also took to mine, 

"Stop!" I cried to Ted "Don't run 
away from the man." 

I protest that I shouted this with the full 
force of my lungs, although — in this way is 
history told — Ted denies that I did so to 
this hour. 

1 hod no idea that Ted Lane could run so 
fast. He simply flew over the ground, All 
I did was to try to catch him, and, I need 
scarcely observe, I had to strain every nerve 
if I wished to have a chance of doing that 
As fur that convict, no sooner had the pro- 
cession started, than that audacious villain 
gave utterance to an ear-piercing yell, which 
must have been audible all the way to Prince- 
town, When that sound fell upon Ted 
line's ear, he stood, if possible, still less 

upon the order of his going even than 
before. He tore off the light knapsack 
which held his sketch-book, his palette, and 
his lunch, and cast it to the winds. When 
he let his knapsack go ? of course, I let mine 
go too. But, merely on that account, it is 
absurd to suppose that I was running away 
from the man behind. I repeat that my sole 
desire was to catch Ted Lane, who was in 
front And how could I expect to be aisle 
to catch him if I was more heavily weighted 
than he was ? 

That convict, instead of pausing as he 
might have been expected to do, to see what 
the knapsacks contained, came on, if any- 
thing, faster than before. He moved so 
much faster than I did that I already 
seemed to feel his outstretched hand upon 
my collar, which is a sufficient refutation of 
the ridiculous suggestion that, in the hut 
sense of the words, I was running away from 

So, as it was plainly a case of at once jr 
never, I increased my already almost super- 
human eflforts to catch Ted Lane. I gained 
upon him, perceptibly, inch by inch- though 
seldom was a man more winged by tear than 
he was then. I almost had him. In 
another second we should have been side 
by side, when my foot caught against some 
obstacle on the uneven turf; and I fell head- 
foremost to the ground* 

What is the most natural thing for a man 
to do when he finds that he is falling? To 
try to save himself by catching hold of some- 
thing. No matter what- anything that is 
within his reach, That is what I did. And 
therefore I say that, under the circumstances, 

" ■ 



1 ALMtiSjiiLlfRD 

Original from 

IS 2 


Ted Lane's simulated indignation is simply 

When I felt myself going, I did the most 
natural thing in the world — I made a snatch 
at something. I suppose it is not my fault if 
Ted Lane's leg was the only thing there was 
to snatch. I presume that even Ted Lane 
himself will not venture to suggest that I put 
his leg where it was. Nor, when I touched 
his leg, if he chose to go sprawling forward 
on to his face, was that any affair of mine. 
Anyhow, he did go forward. And there we 
both of us lay. 

" So I've got you ! " 

This observation was made in a tone of 
voice which induced me, after a short interval 
for reflection, to look round. The speaker 
was the gentleman — but why should I write 
" gentleman " ? I will write it plainly. The 
speaker was the unmitigated ruffian who had 
escaped from Princetown Gaol. 

I sat up, feeling a little out of sorts. In 
my sanguine way, I imagined that the time 
had not yet passed for peaceful overtures. So 
I spoke to the fellow as I would have spoken 
to an ordinary Christian. 

"Good-day ! Warm weather for walking." 

"I'll make it warmer for you before I've 

That was what the crime-stained wretch 
replied. Yet, such was the extent and 
fulness of my Christian charity, still I did 
not wish him to look upon us as his natural 

" You need not be afraid of us, my dear 
sir," I remarked, in that friendly and affable 
way I have. " We have a fellow feeling for 
a fellow creature in distress, and rather than 
re-consign you to the dungeons which you 
appear to have so recently quitted " 

" Afraid of you ! " he yelled. He gave a 
whoop which would have done credit to a 
Red Indian on the war-path. He also 
bounded about four feet from the ground. 
" I am Jim Slim, the Camden Town murderer. 
I have slain nine people with this right hand 
— seven women, three men, and a boy." His 
arithmetic reminded me of a dining-room 
waiter's, but that is what he said. "And 
why should I not add you to the number of 
the slain ? " 

This inquiry was such a peculiar one, even 
proceeding from an escaped convict in the 
middle of Dartmoor, that I was induced to 
look more carefully at the speaker. He was 
quite worth looking at, from the point of view 
of the people who derive satisfaction from 
gazing at the ladies and gentlemen in the 
" Room of Horrors," 

A more horrible and malignant-looking 
scoundrel I never saw. I am not prepared to 
state what were his exact measurements in 
inches, but he was certainly head and 
shoulders taller than I am. I should say, if 
we had been placed rear to rear, that the top 
of my head would have reached somewhere 
about the middle of his back. And, what 
is more, he was more than broad in pro- 

But he was not only a dreadful object as 
regards his physical configuration, but, if the 
thing was possible, his attire lent to his 
appearance an added charm. He was, of 
course, clad in convict's clothing, but, 
although one does not expect that clothing to 
be " cut " in Savile Row, one certainly does 
expect to see about it some sort of a fit. For 
instance, one does not expect to see a man of, 
say, seven foot in a suit of clothes which 
would not be large enough for a man of three 
foot six. The hideous miscreant in front of 
us had been crammed into garments which 
had apparently been intended for his infant 
brother. I don't know, but I had always 
supposed that they provided even convicts 
with boots or shoes. This individual had 
neither. He had on a pair of stockings, the 
whole of which was scarcely large enough to 
contain his feet. His knickerbockers stopped 
short about ten inches above his knees. 
They looked more like curtailed bathing 
drawers, of novel design and pattern, than 
any other garment I ever saw. He had 
apparently cut them opea at the back to 
induce them to meet in front, and the result 
was singular. He had cut his jacket open 
at the seams to enable him to get into it. 
Between the bottom of that garment and the 
top of his knickerbockers was a vacant space 
of about two feet. This was scantily covered 
by the ragged remnants of a parti-coloured 
shirt. * No waistcoat was visible to the naked 
eye. As for hat or cap, perhaps the gentle- 
man had come away so hastily that he had 
forgotten to bring that with him. 

I felt that if that is the costume in which 
a grateful country attires her criminals, 
honesty may be the better policy, after alL 

While Ted and I regarded the guilt- 
smirched scoundrel with eyes of wonder and 
admiration, he plunged his hand into the 
bosom of what, I presume, was intended for 
his shirt. When that hand reappeared it 
held what I have seen described as a 
" shooting-iron." A revolver was flashed in 
our faces. It only needed that to make the 
situation perfect 

'What sharigii^cfrctvith you?" he <te- 



' A RKVtjnKK HAviiKjj is u|jk KACKs. 

manded, in a manner which, so far as I was 
concerned, required no reply whatever, 

Ted, however, seemed to think otherwise. 

" I haven*- brought much money with rne ; 
but so far as half a sovereign is con- 
cerned- w 

(t Half-sovereign me no half-sovereign ! n 

Ted ducked. He appeared to be under 
the impression — which, 1 am bound to own, 
I shared— that that ideal candidate for 
Falstaffs ragged regiment was about to f £ take 
a shot" at him. Our new acquaintance, 
however, restrained his zeal 

" My dear sir/ 1 cried Ted, " don't fire I I 
assure you that my sympathy is yours, I have 
always been conscious that a gentleman in 
your position may be 3 if all were known, a 
better man— — " 

"Sympathy me no sympathy ! " (Another 
duck from Ted) " What I want," yelled the 
stranger, as if he were addressing a meeting 
in Hyde Park, " is clothes ! " 

I felt that this was true ; 
indeed, we both of us felt that 
this was true. But none the 
less, we were not prepared for 
what immediately followed, 

" Take off your coat ! " 

Ted chose to take the re- 
quest as being addressed to 

1£ I am afraid you will find my 
coat too small for you." 

"The two of you take off 
your coats. I will sew them 
both together;" 

The proposition did not com- 
mend itself to me as being of a 
practicable kind, nor as one 
which was likely to lead to a 
satisfactory result. I did not 
see how he proposed to provide 
himself with a well-fitting gar- 
ment even when the two coats 
were sewn together* However, 
as Ted took off his coat, of 
course I took off mine. I had 
always regarded that man as 
my friend, and I was not going 
to desert him th^n. I have 
some consideration for the 
claims of friendship, whatever 
other men may have. 

But the stranger w T as not 
content when he had got our 

II Take off your waistcoats," 
was his next demand. 

Here Ted made a stand ; not 
such a stand as I should have made— still, 
he made a stand, 

"You really must excuse me, my dear 
sir t but if you wouldn't mind " 

" Strip ! " roared the stranger 

And—well, I may say, in fact, I do say it, 
without the slightest hesitation, that if Ted 
had not stripped firsts I should not have 
stripped : I should have remonstrated with 
that ruthless ruffian. I should have pointed 
out to him that there are circumstances which 
an escaped convict ought to coi? ider even in 
the centre of Dartmoor. I should have 
done this in a manner which would have 
commended itself to his sense of what was 
right and w + hat was wrong. But, as I have 
already pointed out, I am not a man to 
desert a friend, especially in the hour of his 
need. So, when Ted stripped, I stood to 
him, shoulder to shoulder, and I stripped too. 

There was one thins; — the weather was 






'take off your waistcoats- 

one, ten miles from anywhere, so that 
there was nothing to shock the proprieties. 
Otherwise, if I know myself, I should cer- 
tainly have refrained. 

I must confess, though, that I did not 
understand why he would not allow us to 
keep our socks. Even if he had sewn the 
two pairs together he would not have been 
able to get into them. And as for our shoes, 
the idea of his ever being able to wear 
them was simply ridiculous. But no, he 
would not even allow* us to keep a pocket- 
handkerchief. He would only allow us to 
keep our hats, And that was absurd A 
man cannot do much in the way of outdoor 
exercise if he only has a hat an. The thing 
would make the absence of the rest of his 
apparel more marked than ever, 

"Take six steps to the left," observed the 

We took six steps to the left ; or, rather, 
Ted took six steps to the left, and, of course, 
I followed him. I never would desert a 

When we had taken six steps to the left, 
the stranger tucked my clothes under one 
arm, and Ted's clothes under the other. He 

turned away. He dis- 
appeared among the 
heather, down a winding 
path which led, with a 
sharp descent, to some 
lower ground upon the 

I will not attempt to 
describe the feelings with 
which we watched him 
disappear Wz waited for 
him to reappear. But we 
w uted in vain. We saw 
nothing more of hirn, or 
of our clothes. We spent 
the greater part of that 
day, in the heart of Dart- 
moor, with "nodings on " 
except our hats, And 
what is even a Lincoln 
and Bennett when you 
have no other garments 
w T ith which to keep that 
article in countenance ? 


H Stand ! or we fire!" 

This was the agreeable 
observation which was 
addressed to us from the 
rear, when we had become 
more than a little tired of 
wandering about a rough, and a rugged, and 
a thorny country in a state of arcadian sim- 
plicity. Our first impression was that the 
gentleman who had replenished his wardrobe 
at the expense of ours, after carefully con- 
sidering the matter, desired the pleasure of 
our further acquaintance. Perhaps he had 
come back after our hats. 

But our first impression was a mistaken 
one, as we perceived when we looked behind 

A little distance off stood a small group 
of warders, evidently a search party from the 
prison* Their guns were raised to their 
shoulders, and the muzzles were pointed in 
imr direction, with evident and obvious 
intent. But we had no objection to "stand." 
Not the slightest. We had already been 
standing for some time, chiefly because we 
had experienced a difficulty in sitting or 
lying on the prickly turf with M nodings on." 

As the warders advanced they stared at us 
with unmistakable and increasing surprise, 
which conduct, on their part, was not alto- 
gether without excuse. In front of them 
walked a superior officer, perhaps a " chief " 
warder, or something — I don't know ; I have 






. '#,, * 



myself not yet "done time." At his side 
was an individual who, as he was attired in 
the ordinary costume of every-day life, was, 
apparently, a civilian. When he had come 
close enough to make quite sure that our 
attire was represented by a minus quantity, 
he addressed us : — 

" Who are you ; and what are you walking 
about like that for ? " 

We told him who we were. We also told 
him why we were walking about like that. 
We explained, with a certain dignity, that we 
had encountered the gentleman he was in 
search of, and that he had relieved us of 
what we would charitably hope he had 
supposed to be our superfluities. 

That- officer's surprise, for some occult 
reason, appeared to increase rather than to 

"You don't mean to say that you two 
men allowed a little man like that to strip 
you both stark-naked ? " 

Little man ! I don't know what he called 
a little man. I pointed out to him, with 
sarcastic and even cutting emphasis, that a 
man seven foot six could be only called 
" little" in a land of giants. 

" Seven foot six ! Why, he scarcely tops 
five foot" 

Scarcely topped five foot ! Then that 
was the most liberal five foot I ever yet 
encountered- I said so. 

The individual who was attired in civilian 
costume interposed : — 

" If the man these gentlemen are speaking 
of was unusually tall, it is possible that it 
was Mr. Mogford, and if so " 

He got no further ; because just then 
there came sauntering out from among the 
gorse and the heather " Jim Slim, the Camden 
Town murderer." His appearance created a 
sensation. His costume, in particular, seemed 
to occasion almost as much surprise as ours 
had done. He carried under each arm a 
bundle of clothing. Ted Lane and I 
recognised those bundles without a moment's 
hesitation. The fellow had been wise enough 
not to attempt to clothe himself with our 
belongings. With an air of the most perfect 
tranquillity he approached the group of 
warders. Then he stretched out his arm, 
letting Ted's garments tumble to the ground, 
and he shook the civilian by the hand. 

" How do, Pierce ? " he observed., " I'm 
Jim Slim, the Camden Town murderer." 

He said he was — but he wasn't There 
have been moments since then when I have 
almost wished he had been. 

The man was a lunatic — in a legal, not 
merely in a colloquial sense. His name was 
Mogford. He was residing, for the benefit 
of his health, in a cottage, somewhere — I 
cannot say exactly where ; I never knew, but 
somewhere upon Dartmoor. The individual 
in civilian clothes, Mr. Pierce, was his 
keeper. Mr. Mogford had risen at a very 
early hour that morning and, unknown to 

his (wfe#wi»,ff e moor - He 




had not been heard of since. Mr Pierce 
was looking for him when he had encountered 
the search party from the prison. 

That lunatic, Mogford, had met that 
convict, who was probably then in the first 
ardour of his flight The chaste beauty of 
the flying convict's costume had filled his 
lunatic soul with longing. He had insisted 
upon a change of clothing. What that com ict 
thought of the transaction history does not 
record. Although the fit must have left 
something to be desired, he probably needed 
but slight coercion. 

Mr. Mogtord, having got himself in — and 
very much in — his new garments, somehow, 
felt himself bound to act up to his attire. 
Coming upon us he had insisted not exactly 
upon another exchange, but upon rank 

I have heard it whispered since that my 
conduct on that occasion did not exactly 
merit the cross for valour. I have even heard 
it insinuated that it showed rank cowardice 

for two men to allow one man to strip them 
to the skin. That sort of observation merely 
denotes inexperience. If you go to the 
United States, that great country, you will 
find that a couple of men with " shooters " 
can, and do, "hold-up" a whole train full 
of passengers, and among them men of 

I beg to observe, with emphasis, and with- 
out hesitation, that it is only when ten miles 
away from anywhere you meet a bloodthirsty, 
blood-guilty, gigantic, murderous, truculent, 
reckless ruffian, who has everything to win 
and nothing to lose, and who is in possession 
of a revolver which he shows every intention 
of using on the slightest possible pretext, 
that you learn what force of persuasion there 
is in a certain kind of argument. 

Ted Lane may have been a coward. I 
wish it to be understood that I say nothing 
to the contrary* For myself, I spurn the 
paltry suggestion with the withering contempt 
which it deserves* 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 


hum 15. 

Jfymm a Pkoio. by H\ Woodbury ^ Manchattr. 


Born 1848, 

R, SYDNEY GRUNDY was born 
in Manchester, and devoted him- 
self to play writing at the early age 
of twelve. He practised for six 
years as a barrister in his native 
city j but his one-act piece, " A Little Change," 

AGE 32. 

Frvm a Photo, bg Culetrt Brv*- t Mimth&ttfr 

having been produced by Buckstone, with 
Madge Robertson and Mr* Kendal in the 

VoL vi.— 21. 

AGE 30. 

Fmm H Photo, b» i^ivfuia*" & fitofce, Stmmt. 

leading parts, he came to London in 1876, 
and has produced a play almost yearly ever 
since. His first remarkable success was 
C( Mammon," produced at the Strand Theatre 
in 1877. In 1882 he wrote the comic opera, 
"The Vicar of Bray, 1 * recently revived, with 
considerable alteration, at the Savoy, "Clito, " 
produced by Mr. Wilson Barrett in 1886, was 
the beginning of a series of almost uniform 
successes, of which, perhaps, the most popular 
have been " The Arabian Nights," " A Pair 
of Spectacles," and " Haddon HalL" 


y all Mall East 



it, and began to reign as King George L on 
June 6th, 1863. Since the year 1876, when 
active trouble broke out in the Balkan Penin- 

AGE 1 3. 

From a Photo, by SouVmtU #na + Baker Street. IF. 

Born 1845. 

EORGE I , (Christian William 
Ferdinand Adolphus George), 
King of the Hellenes, second son 
of the King of Denmark, and 
brother of the Czarina and of the 
Princess of Wales, was born December 24th, 
1845, and served for some time in the Danish 
navy, After the abdication of Otho L, the 
late King of Greece, in 1863, the vacant 
throne was first tendered hy a majority of 
the Greek people to Prince Alfred of England, 
whose nomination the English Government 
refused to accept It was then offered to 
Duke Ernest of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who 
declined it; and eventually to Prince Christian, 
who, with the concurrence of his own family 
and the consent of the Great Powers, accepted 

age a8. 
From a Phaioffrapk, 

sula, King George's position has been veiy 
difficult ; but as yet he has maintained it 
without going to wan 




sister of the German Emperor. The 
Queen of Greece has five other children 
living, her eldest daughter, Princess 

a<;I£ 19. 
From a Phofa by Herganuwco, St. FtUrwhrtrg- 


Born 1851, 

RINCESS OLGA, daughter of the 
Grand Duke Cons tan tine, was 
married at St Petersburg, at the 
age of sixteen, to George I, of 
Greece. Her eldest son, Con- 
staniine, Duke of Sparta, was born in 

AGE 26. 
From a Photo, by Bergammw, St. Pefeif&if rtf- 

the following year at Athens, He married 
in 1889 Princess Sophia of Prussia, the 

ACE 32, 

Fwm <a PAoto b M Jfrmlfe* £ ft*., Athtns. 

Alexandra, who married the Grand Duke 
Paul of Russia, having clitd two }L k ars ago. 




f',-itti ii | 

I £ki ff jit r ttvtffla. 

Born 1846, 


P HART, R.S.A., was born in 
:< Dumfriesshire on February 14th, 
1846. He exhibited in the Royal 
Scottish Academy at the early age 
of fourteen, and a few years later in the Royal 
Academy, He was elected an Associate of 
the Royal Scottish Academy in 1870. Eight 
years later, in 1878, Mr. Lockhart was made 
a full Academician, He is the representative 
of the Scottish Academy among the Trustees 


From a Photo, by Xetbitt <* LvtMan. HUinifurffh. 

of the British Institution, and is a member of 
the Royal Water-Colour Society. In June, 
1887, Mr, Lockhart was commissioned by 
Her Majesty the Queen to paint, for the 
Royal galleries at Windsor, a picture of the 

Digitized by ViOOg I C 

"Jubilee Celebration in Westminster Abbey," 
which large work engrossed his whole atten- 
tion for almost three years. His principal 
works exhibited in the Royal Scottish 
Academy are: "Prisdlla,* 1 1870; "Don 

AGE 31. Phvto. by T. /krjwr*, <S£ Awlr*.w» T X.B. 

Quixote," 187S J "GU Bias," 1878; "Alnas- 
char," 1879; "Cardinal Beaton," 1881 ; 
"The Cid," 1882; "Swineherd," 1885; 
"Church Lottery," 1886; " Glaucus," 1887 ; 
and " The Jubilee Celebration in Westminster 
Abbey," 1887. 




stead, in 1855. He had published some 
poems in 1848, but his most celebrated 
poetical work did not appear till 1866, It 
is entitled " Yesterday, To-day, and For 
Even" This was followed, in i8;o > by 

FrainaJ ACE 37, [Photograph. 


Born 1825. 



IJ^ D.D., Bishop of Exeter, son of the 

late Edward Bickersteth, author 

of the " Christian Psalmody," 


AGE 5*. 


the popular collection of hymns known as 
"The Hymnal Companion to the Book of 
Common Prayer." Early in 1885 Mr. Bicker- 
steth, at Mr. Gladstone's recommendation, 
was created Bishop of Exeter as successor 
to Dr. Temple. 

Ffoma Photo, by] 

age 40. 

[Ikhmfmm, Regent £l. 

took his degree at Trinity College, Cam- 
bridge, in 1847. Having entered the Church, 
he held the curacies of Benningham, Norfolk, 
and of Christ Church, Tun bridge Wells; in 
1852 he became rector of H in ton Martell, 
Dorse tj and vicar of Christ Church, Hamp- 

From a photo. by\ 

H£££fcNi PAV. 



I 62 


Chantrey collection, of which it is one 
of the best works. In 1889 Mr. Wyllie 

AGE 7. 
From a Dawwrtotvpt bjf W J, B<nham> 


Born 1853. 


' WYLLIE is the son of 

Mr. W. M. Wyllie, the 

"* artist, and became a Royal 

Academy student at the 

age of fourteen- From the first 

his inclination was for drawing ships 

and seas, which he has been doing 

ever since, with a success which is 

familiar to every lover of art. At 

seventeen his first 

Academy picture 

appeared, and shortly 

afterwards he won 

the Turner Medal, 

awarded to him for 

a picture of a wreck* 

In 1876 his picture, 

"Tracking in 

Holland," was hung 

on the line ; but the 

pictures which chiefly 

sent up his reputa 

From a Phuta, fry j/n. 

tion were 


River," in the Aca- 
demy of 1882, and 
the still finer "Toil, 
Glitter, Crime, and 
Wealth on a Flow- 
ing Tide, 7 ' which 
was bought for the 


Jin. W. 

was elected an 
A*R.A>, an honour 
which his bold, 
fresh, effective work 
had thoroughly 
earned. He has 
literally lived with 
boats, and long be- 
fore he was twenty he 
had learned to sketch 
from the deck of a 
vawl. To this habit 
of working on a level 
with the water, in- 
stead of seeing it from 
above, or merely from 
the shore, his work 
owes much of its 
originality and firm- 


l Usui*. frocBB* 


Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 

By the Author of (l The Medicine Lad v." 

ERYwell,"! said, " I will call 
to-morrow at the asylum, and 
you will show me round." 

1 was talking to a doctor, 
an old chum of mine. He 
had the charge of a branch 
hospital in connection with the County 
Asylum, and had asked me to take his post 
for a few days. His name was Poynter — he 
was a shrewd, clever fellow, with a keen love 
for his profession, and a heart by no means 
callous to the sufferings of his fellow-beings. 
In short, he was a good fellow all round, and 
it often puzzled me why he should take up 
this somewhat 
dismal and dis- 
couraging branch 
of the profession, 

Poynter had 
been working 
hard, and looked, 
his apparent sang- 
froid, as if his 
nerves had been 
somewhat shaken. 

When he beg- 
ged of me to take 
his post, and so 
to secure him 
a few days* 
holiday, I could 
not refuse. 

*' But I have no 
practical know- 
ledge of the in- 
sane,'* I said. 
"Of course, I 
have studied men- 
tal diseases gene- 
rally ; but practical acquaintance with mad 
people I have none." 

" Oh, that is nothing," answered Poynter, 
in his brisk voice ; " there are no very violent 
cases in the asylum at present. If anything 
unforeseen occurs, you have but to consult my 
assistant, Symonds. What with him and the 

tb him and 

keepers and the nurses, all we really want 
you for is to satisfy the requirements of the 

* ■ I am abundantly willing to come," I 
replied. " All the ills that flesh is heir to, 
whether mental or physical, are of interest 
to me. What hour shall I arrive to-morrow ? " 
" Be here at ten to-morrow morning, and 
I will take you round with me, You will 
find some of my patients not only interest- 
ing from a medical point of view, but agree- 
able and even brilliant men and women of 
the world We keep a mixed company, I 
assure you, Halifax, and when you have 

been present at 
some of our 
4 evenings,' you 
will be able to 
testify to the fact 
that, whatever we 
fail in, we are 
anything but 

This statement 
was somewhat 
difficult to be- 
lieve, but as I 
should soon be 
in a position to 
test its truth, I 
refrained from 

The next morn- 
ing I arrived at 
Norfolk House at 
th e h on r sped fi ed , 
and accompanied 
Poynter on his 

We visited the 
different rooms, and exchanged a word or 
two with almost every inmate of the great 
establishment The padded room was not 
occupied at present, but patients exhibiting 
all phases of mental disease were not wanting 
to form a graphic and very terrible picture 
in my mind's eydll from 





I was new to this class of disease, and 
almost regretted the impulse which had 
prompted me to give Poynter a holiday. 

I felt sure that I could never attain to his 
coolness. His nerve, the fearless expression 
in his eyes, gave him instant control over 
even the most refractory subjects, lie said 
a brief word or two to one and all, introduced 
me to the nurse or keeper, as the case might 
be, and finally, taking my arm, drew me into 
the open air. 

" You have seen the worst we can offer at 
present/' he said ; " now let us turn to the 
brighter picture. The people whom you will 
meet in the grounds are harmless, and except 
on the one mad point, are many of them full 
of intelligence. Do you see that pretty girl 
walking in the shrubbery ?" 

"Yes," I said, "she looks as sane as you 
or I." 

"Ah, I wish she was. Poor girl, she 
imagines that she has committed every crime 
under the sun. Her's is just one of the cases 
which are most hopeless. But come and let 
us talk to Mr. Jephson : he is my pet patient, 
and the life of our social evenings. I have 
considerable hopes of his recovery, although 
it is not safe to talk of giving him his liberty 
yet Come, 1 will introduce you to him, 
He must sing for you when you come here. 
To listen to that man's voice 
is to fancy oneself enjoying 
the harmonies of Heaven." 

We walked down a broad 
grass path, and found our- 
selves face to face with a 
gentlemanly man of middle 
age. He had grey hai r closely 
cropped, an olive-tinted face, 
good eyes, and a fine, genial, 
intelligent expression. 

" How do you do ? " said 
Poynter* "Pray let me 
introduce you to my friend, Dr. 
Halifax. Dr. Halifax Mr + Jephson, 
I am glad to be able to tell you/ 1 
continued Poynter, addressing him- 
self to Jephson, " that I have just 
made arrangements with Halifax to 
take my place here for a week or 
so. You will be interested, for 
you have kindly wished me a 
holiday. I start on my pleasure trip 

" I am delighted," responded 
Jephson, in a genial tone- " If 
ever a man deserves a holiday, you 
do, doctor. Your patience, your 
zeal, your courage fill me with 

amazement at times. But such a life must 
be wearing, and a complete change will do 
you a world of good." 

" You will do what you can for my friend 
here," said Poynter, " At first, of course, he 
will be a stranger, but if I place him under 
your wing, Jephson, I have no feat for the 

Jephson laughed* The sound of his 
laugh was heart-whole. His full, dark eyes 
were fixed on me intently for an instant. 

"Til do what I can for you, Dr. Halifax," 
he said. " Come to me if you are in any 
difficulty. Poynter will assure you that I 
have a certain influence at Norfolk House. 
There are few of its unhappy inmates who 
do not come to me for advice — in short, who 
do not count me among their friends." 

At tins moment Poynter was called away 
to speak to someone, 

"Yes, I'll do what I can to make your 
stay amongst us pleasant," continued Jeph- 
son. " But, dear, dear, at the best it's a sad 
life, and those who come under its influence 
must at times be troubled by melancholy 
reflections. When all is said and done, Dr, 
Halifax, what are we but a set of prisoners ? 


Banished from those we love, 
and who love us ! If there is 
a class of human beings whom 
I truly pity, it is the insane." 

"Mr + Jephson, will you come 

and talk to Miss Whittaker for 


said the shrill 

voice of a 


Original frona Hrp^^H lariv 



who I was told afterwards imagined herself 
to be Bathsheba. 

He turned at once, bowing courteously to 
me as he did so. 

Poynter returned and took my arm. 

" Well, what do you think of him ? " he 

My reply came without hesitation. 

" He is one of the handsomest and most 
intelligent men I have ever spoken to. Why 
is he here, Poynter ? He is no more insane 
than you or I." 

"In one sense you are right, but he has 
his mad, his very mad, point He imagines 
that he is the richest man in the world. 
Acting on this delusion he ha- done all kinds 
of eccentric things — written out cheques for 
sums which never existed, misled no end of 
people, until at last his friends found it 
necessary to confine him here. But I have 
hopes of him — he is better, much better, than 
he was. Let us take this path to the left, 
and we will come upon him again. I see he 
is talking just now to poor Miss Whittaker. 
Introduce the subject of money to him while 
I have a chat with Miss Whittaker, and note 
his reply." 

We very quickly came up to the pair. Mr. 
Jephson was holding an earnest conversation 
with a very pretty, very sad-looking, young 
girl. He was evidently trying to cheer her, 
and his fine face was full of sympathy. 

" How do you do, Miss Whittaker ? " said 
Poynter, as we came up to them. "Allow 
me to introduce my friend, Dr. Halifax. 
Jephson, I am sorry to interrupt your chat, 
but as I am going away to-night, I want to 
have a word with Miss Whittaker. Will you 
come *his way, Miss Whittaker ? I shall not 
detain you for an instant" 

The doctor and the girl turned down one 
of the many shady paths. Jephson sighed as 
he looked after them. 

" Poor, poor girl," he said ; " hers is one 
of the saddest cases in the whole of this 
unhappy place." 

"And yet she looks perfectly sane," I 

" She is sane, I am perfectly convinced on 
that point. Ask our doctor to tell you her 
story. Would that it were in my power to 
help her!" 

His eyes sparkled as he spoke, and a 
smile of profound pity lingered round his 

I felt almost sure that the man himself was 
sane, but to make doubly certain I must press 
my finger on the weak point 

" Allow me to remark," I said, " that to be 

Vol. vi.— 22. 

confined here must be a great deprivation to 
a man of your wealth." 

When I said this a quick change came over 
Jephson's face. He came close to me, looked 
fixedly into my eyes, and said, with sudden, 
grave emphasis : — 

" My dear sir, your remark is more than 
jusr.' A man of my exceptional wealth must 
feel this confinement acutely. I do feel it for 
more reasons than one — you will understand 
this when I tell you that my income is a 
million a minute. Fact, I assure you. I 
have often thought seriously of buying up the 
whole of England." 

He spoke with great emphasis, but also 
with great quietness, and his eyes still looked 
sane and calm. I knew, however, that 
Poynter was right, and hastened to change 
the subject 

We followed Miss Whittaker and Poynter 
at a respectful distance. They came to a 
part of the grounds where several paths met. 
Here they paused to wait for us. Miss 
Whittaker raised her eyes as we approached, 
and fixed them, with an eager, questioning 
gaze, on my face. 

The moment I met her eyes, I felt a thrill 
of quick sympathy going through me. She 
was certainly a very pretty girl, and her dark 
grey eyes, well open and set rather wide apart, 
were full of the pleading expression I had 
only seen hitherto in a dog's. Her lips were 
beautifully curved, her abundant soft brown 
hair shaded as gentle and intelligent a face as 
I had ever seen. There is a peculiar look in 
the eyes of most mad people, but if ever eyes 
were sane, Miss Whittaker's were as they 
looked pleadingly at me. 

" I will say good-bye for the present, Dr. 
Poynter," she said, holding out her hand to 
my friend, " for if you have nothing more to 
say, I must go into the house to give Tommy 
his reading lesson." 

Her voice was as sweet as her face. 

"Who is Tommy?" I asked of Poynter 
after she had left us. 

"An idiot boy whom Miss Whittaker is 
more than kind to," he replied, " and whom 
she is developing in the most marvellous 

" Look here, Poynter," interrupted Jephson, 
" be sure you give Halifax a right impression 
of that poor girl." 

He turned away as he spoke. I 
immediately raised eyes of inquiry to my 

" Why is Miss Whittaker here ? " I asked at 
once. " I seldom saw a more beautiful face 
or alJfH»ViRb|tT % Wi^ltfnt-l^c]:ing girl. When I 

1 66 


look at her, I feci inclined to say, ' If she is 
insane, God help the rest of the world/" 

"And yet/' said Poynter, speaking in a 
low voice which thrilled me with the horror of 
its import, " that gentle-looking girl is so insane 
that she was guilty of murder. In short, 
she is under confinement in a lunrtic 
asylum during the Queen's pleasure, when 
of course may mean for life/* 

just then some people came up, and I 
had not a moment to ask Foynter for any 
further particulars, I had to catch the n s/X 
train to town, but I arrived at Norfolk House 
again that evening prepared to stay there 
during the week of my friend's absence, 

This happened to be one of the social 
evenings and immediately after dinner I had 
to put in an appearance in the immense 
drawing-room which ran right across the front 
of the house. There were from seventy to 
eighty people present Most of them were 
nice looking. Some of the girls were really 
pretty, some of the men handsome. They 
all wore evening dress, and dancing, music, 
and song were the order of the hour. 

My quick eyes at once singled out Jeph- 
son 's fine figure. He looked more striking 
than ever in his evening dress, and when he 
sang, as he did twice during the evening, the 
quality of his tenor voice was so rich and 
sweet that I abundantly indorsed Poynter's 
verdict with regard to it 

There was a sudden hush in the rooms 
when jephson sang* Restless people became 
quiet and talka- 
tive ones silent 
A pleasant melan- 
choly stole over 
some faces — a 
gentle peace over 
others. On the 
last of these 
occasions Miss 
Whittaker ap- 
proached close to 
the piano and 
fixed her beautiful, 
sad eyes on t he- 
singer's face. 

If ever eyes told 
a tragic story, hers 

" Poynter says that this girl has 
been accused of murder/' I mut- 
tered to myself. u There must lie 
a mistake — if Jephson knows her 
story he will probably tell it to me, 

During that first evening I had no oppor- 
tunity to say any special word to the young 
girl, but her image followed me when I 
retired at last to my own room, and I saw 
her sad, pale face again in my dreams. 

I am not a coward, but I took care to lock 
and draw the bolts of my door. To say the 
least of it, a lunatic asylum is an eccentric 
sort of place, and I felt that I had better 
prepare against the vagaries of my immediate 

I fell asleep almost the moment my head 
touched the pillow. In my sleep I dreamt 
of Miss Whittaker, At first my dream was of 
the tranquil order ; but gradually, I cannot tell 
how, my visions of the night became troubled, 
and I awoke at last to find myself bathed in 
cold perspiration, and also to the fact that the 
noises which had mingled with my dreams 
were real, and very piercing and terrible. 

Shrieks of agonized human beings, the 
quick, hurrying tread of many feet— and then 
a rushing sound as of a body of water, smote 
upon my ears. 

I sprang to my feet, struck a light, dressed 
in a moment, and hurried down the corridor 
in the direction from where the noises came. 
Lights were flashing, bells were ringing, 
and terrified faces were peeping round doors 
in all directions. 

"Keep back, keep back! 3 ' I exclaimed to 
one and all " There has been an accident 
of some sort. Stay in your rooms, good 
people, I will promise to come back pre- 
sently and 
tell you what 
it is about" 
A few of 
my patients 
had the 
courage and 
to obey me, 
but others 
seemed t om- 

but I wish I had had time to ask 
Poynter to give me full particulars. 





pletely to lose their heads, and laughed 
and shrieked as the case might be, as they 
followed me in the direction from where the 
noise came. 

I found myself at last in a large room 
which was evidently used as a sort of general 
store-room, for there was a huge linen press 
occupying nearly the whole of one side, while 
the other was taken up with big cupboards 
filled with different stores. 

My eyes took in these details in a flash. 
I remembered them distinctly by-and-by, 
but now all my thoughts were occupied with 
the scene of confusion which arrested my 
attention in the middle of the floor. Several 
nurses, keepers, and attendants were bending 
over the prostrate figure of a woman who lay 
stretched in an unconscious state on the 
floor. Another poor creature was jabbering 
and talking in a distant corner. I looked 
quickly at him and saw that he was a boy. 
He was shaking and sobbing, and pointed his 
finger at the woman. 

" This is Tommy, sir," exclaimed one of 
the attendants ; " he's our idiot boy, and is 
quiet most times, but sometimes he takes a 
contrary sort of fit, and once or twice before 
now we thought he meant mischief. He 
took a wonderful fancy to her," pointing to 
the unconscious woman, " and she seemed to 
be doing him a power of good ; but to-night 
he broke loose, and crept about setting 
places on fire. That's his craze, and he's 
always locked up at night. How he got 
loose to-night there's no telling ; but, there — 
he's more sly and cunning nor a fox. He 
escaped, and might have had the whole 
building in flames but that she saw him, or 
smelt something, or found out We can't say 
what did happen, for when I and my mate 
Jones rushed in here, we found her on the 
floor all unconscious as you see her, and drip- 
ping wet as if she was deluged with water ; 
and here's Tommy — Tommy won't utter a 
word for the next twenty-four hours, so there 
ain't no use trying to pump him." 

"How do you know there has been a 
fire?" I asked. 

"You look here, sir — this wood is all 
charred, and we found a box of matches in 
Tommy's pocket Oh, and here's her dress 
burnt too, poor thing. I expect she turned 
on the water tap and then lost her senses. 
She gets very nervous at times. Dear, dear 
— it was brave of her to tackle the fire alone, 
and Tommy in one of his mad fits." 

"Stand aside now, please," I said. "I 
must see what can be done for this lady ; I 
am afraid she is seriously hurt" 

The attendants made way for me at once, 
♦and I knelt on the floor, to discover that the 
pale, unconscious face over which I bent 
belonged to the pretty girl whom I had 
admired so much in the drawing-room that 

With the assistance of a couple of men, 
and a kind-looking elderly nurse of the name 
of Hooper, I had Miss Whittaker conveyed 
back to her bedroom, and in a very short 
time we had her wet things removed, and she 
was lying in bed. 

As I feared, she was very badly burnt about 
her left arm and side. Her right hand, too, 
was swollen and cut, and one of her fingers 
was dislocated. 

" It must have been with this hand she 
held Tommy," exclaimed Mrs. Hooper. 
" Well, she is brave, poor thing ; everybody 
likes her, she's that obliging and tractable. 
Do you think she is much hurt, sir ? " 

" We must get her round before I can say," 
I replied. " I don't like the look of this con* 
tinued unconsciousness." 

The nurse helped me with a will, and in 
about an hour's time a deep breath from 
the patient showed that her spirit was slowly 
returning to a world of suffering. The breath 
was followed by one or two heavily-drawn 
sighs or groans of pain, and then the dark 
grey eyes were opened wide. 

They had a glassy look about them, and 
it was evident that she could not at first 
recall where she was or what had happened 
to her. 

" I think I have fully surrendered my will," 
she said, in a slow voice. " Yes, fully and 
absolutely. Yes— the pains are better. 
There is comfort in resting on you. Yes, I 
submit my will to you. I obey you — 

" What are you talking 'about ? " I said in 
a cheerful tone. " I don't want you to 
submit your will to mine, except to the 
extent of allowing me to dress this bad burn. 
Will you move a little more round on your 
right side ? Ah, that is better." 

She submitted at once. A faint blush 
came into her cheeks, and she said in a tone 
of apology :— 

" I beg your pardon. I thought you were 
my friend, Dr. Walter Anderson." 

I made no reply to this, but having made 
the poor thing as comfortable as I could, I 
administered an opiate, and, telling Hooper 
to sit up with her, went away to see after 
Tommy and to quiet the rest of the excited 

T teEKW^*iOT sleepforme 

1 68 


that night, for the event which had just taken 
place had aroused m >iv than one refractory 
patient to a state bordering on frenzy* I 
found I had to use my soothing powers to 
the best advantage. 

Early in the morning I went to Miss 
Whit taker's room to inquire after her. I 
found her in an alarming state, highly feverish, 
and inclined to be delirious. 

" Pore thing, it's partly her madness no 
doubt/' remarked Nurse Hooper; "but she 
do talk queer. It's all about giving up her 
will — as if anyone wanted to take it from her, 
pore lamb, and that she'd like to see Dr. 

" Do you know who he is ? " I inquired. 

"No, sir, I never heard his name before." 

I looked again at my patient, and then 
beckoned the nurse to the door of the room. 


"Look here," I 
said, " I see by your 
manner that you are 
anxious to be kind 
to that poor young 


"Kind? Who wouldn't be kind? 3 ' ex- 
claimed Hooper. "She's the nicest young lady, 
and the least selfish, as I ever come across," 
" But you know what she is here for?" 
"Yes." Nurse Hooper tossed her head 
disdainfully. " Tm aware of what they say. 
You don't catch me believing of 'em. Why, 
that young lady, she wouldn't hurt a fly\ let 
alone kill a man. No, no, I know the good 
kind when I see 'em, and she's one." 

" I will sit with her for a little," I said. 
"You can go and have some breakfast," 

While the nurse was away Miss Whit taker 
opened her eyes. She looked full at me, and 
I saw that she was quite conscious agaia 

" You are the new doctor ? " she said. 

"Yes," I replied, " Dr, Halifax/' 

" I can't quite remember, but I think you 
were very kind to me last night ? " she said 
again, and her sad eyes scrutinized me 

" I naturally did all I could for you," I 
replied. " It was very brave of you to put 
out the fire : you saved us all, I was bound 
to help you." 

" I remember about Tommy now," she 
said, with a little shudder. "Tommy was 
awful last night. I cannot soon forget his face." 

"Try not to think of it," I said. "Shut 
your eyes and let your imagination wander to 
pleasant things." 

She gave a long shiver, 

"What pleasant things are there in an 
asylum ? " she answered, " And I am, you 
know I am, shut up here for life. I am only 
twenty-three, and I am shut up here for life ! " 

There was not a scrap of excitement in her 
manner. She never even raised her voice, 
but the dull despair of her tone gave me a 
sort of mental shiver, 

" Forgive me for forgetting/' I said. "Some 
time, perhaps, you will be well enough to tell 
me something of your story. In the mean 
time, believe in my sympathy. Now I must 
attend to your physical condition. Are your 
burns very painful ? " 

" Not for the last hour, but I feel weak 
and as if I were drifting away somewhere, 
and it seems to me that my life must be 
nearly over." 

"Don't say that," I replied "At your 
age, life is little more than really begun." 
Then I added, driven by an impulse which I 
could not resist, "It is my earnest wish and 
desire to help you. I have a strong feeling 
that there is some terrible mistake here. I 
would do anything to prove your innocence, 
and your sanity." 

"Tha;jk you," she answered, Her eyes 
grew* dim for a moment — she turned her 
head away. " Thank you," she repeated 
again, more faintly. 

Nurse Hooper came into the room, and I 
hurried downstairs. 

After breakfast 1 spoke to Jephson. 

" Did you ever happen to hear of a man of 
the name of Walter Anderson, a doctor?'' I 

"Only frbffl^H Tft!lfitaker t w he replied. 




"We all know, of course, that he is her 
greatest friend." 

"I should wish to know more about him," 
I answered. 

Jephson fixed his fine eyes on my face. 

" I am glad you are going to be kind to 
that poor girl," he said. 

" I am not only going to be kind to her, 
but I mean to get her out of this place," I 
answered, stoutly. Jephson laughed. 

" The kind of speech you have just made 
is often heard at Norfolk House," he replied. 
" For at Norfolk House nothing is impossible 
to anyone — no feat is too daring, no exploit 
too vast But you will pardon me for laugh- 
ing, for this is the very first time I have 
heard the doctor of the establishment go into 
heroics. You are, of course, aware under what 
conditions Miss Whittaker is confined here ? " 

"You know the story, don't you?" I 

" Yes, I know the story." 

" Can you tell it to me in a very few words ? " 

" In as few or as many as you please." 

"The fewer words the better. I simply 
want to be in possession of facts." 

" Then I can give them to you very briefly. 
Miss Whittaker has come here from London. 
Her story can be told in half-a-dozen 
sentences. She was a gentle, modest, rather 
nervous, very highly-strung girl. One day 
she went to the house of a man with whom 
she had little in common, who had, as far as 
we can make out, never in any way injured 
her, for whom she had no apparent dislike, 
to whom she bore no apparent grudge, and 
forcing her way into his private sitting-room, 
deliberately fired^at him." 

" She killed him ? " I exclaimed. 

" She fired at his head ; he died at once — 
and Miss Whittaker is here for life. It is a 
short story — none shorter — none sadder, in 
the whole of this terrible place." 

" You believe that she did it ? " I said. 

" Yes, I believe that she did it — the papers 
gave full accounts of it — there were witnesses 
to prove it Miss Whittaker was brought to 
trial As there was no motive whatever for 
the act, it was put down to dangerous homi- 
cidal insanity, and she was sent first of all 
to the criminal asylum, afterwards, through 
the influence of friends, here." 

" I canrjot make head or tail of it," I ex- 
claimed. "You believe that pretty, sweet- 
looking young girl to be guilty of a horrible 
deed, and yet you don't think her insane ? " 

" I think she is as sane as you are, sir." 

" Believing this, you tolerate her — you can 
bear to be friends with her ! " 

— ycu c 

"I tolerate her — I like her much. The 
fact is, Mr. Halifax, the solution of this story 
has not yet been arrived at. My firm belief 
is this, that when it comes it will not only 
clear Miss Whittaker of any responsibility in 
the crime she has committed, but also re- 
establish her sanity." 

" Nonsense, nonsense," I said. " If she 
did this deed, she is either insane or wicked. 
You say you are convinced that she did fire 
at the man ? " 

" She undoubtedly fired at a man of the 
name of Frederick Willoughby with intent to 
take his life. She fulfilled her purpose, for 
the man died ; still I believe her to be sane, 
and I believe that there is something to be 
found out which will establish her innocence." 

"You talk in riddles," I answered, almost 
angrily. I turned on my heel and walked away. 

The whole Episode worried and distressed 
me. I found that I could scarcely attend to 
my other duties, Jephson's words and manner 
kept recurring to me again and again. He 
stoutly declared that Miss Whittaker was 
both innocent and sane, and yet she had 
killed a man ! 

"Why should I bother myself over this 
matter ? " I murmured once or twice during 
that morning's work. " Jephson is mad him- 
self. His ideas are surely not worth regard- 
ing. Of course, Miss Whittaker is one of 
those unfortunate people subject to homicidal 
mania. She is best here, and yet — poor girl, 
it is a sad, sad, terrible lot I told her, too, 
that I would try to clear her. Well, of course, 
that was before I knew her story." 

As I busied myself, however, with my other 
patients, the look in the gentle young girl's 
grey eyes, the expression of her voice when 
she said " Thank you — thank you," kept re- 
curring to me again and again. 

Try as I would, I found I could not force 
her story out of my mind. Towards evening 
I went to see her again. Nurse Hooper told 
me that my patient had passed a restless and 
feverish day, but she was calmer now. 

I found her half sitting up in bed, her soft 
hair pushed back from her forehead, her face 
very pale — its expression wonderfully sweet 
and patient. The moment I looked at her 
I became again firmly convinced that there 
was some mistake somewhere — so refined and 
intelligent a young girl could never have 
attempted senseless murder. 

" I am glad you are easier," I said, sitting 
down by her side. 

When she heard my voice a faint, pink 
colour came to her cheeks, and her eyes 

grew ^*™KlCHIGAN 

I jo 


%i \ am almost out of pain," she answered, 
looking at me gratefully. " I feel weak — very 
weak ; but I am almost out of pain." 

" Your nervous system got a severe shock 
last night," I replied ; " you cannot expect to 
be yourself for a day or two. You will be 
glad to hear, however, that Tommy is better. 
He asked for you about an hour ago, and 
told me to give you his love," 

" Poor Tommy/ 1 replied Miss Whit taker — 
then she shuddered, and grew very pale — " but 
oh ! " she added, " his face last night was 
terrible — his stealthy movements were more 
terrible, I cannot forget what he has done," 

" How did you first discover him?" I asked 

"I was going to sleep, when I heard a 
slight noise in my room, I looked up, and 
there was Tommy — he had hidden in that 
cupboard. He was trying to set the bed on 
fire. When he saw me, he laughed, and ran 
away. I followed him as far as the store- 
room — I don't think I remember any more.' 1 

"You must try to forget what you do 
remember," I replied, in a soothing tone, 
41 Tommy had a mad fit on. When people 
are mad they are not accountable for their 
actions. " I looked at her fixedly as I spoke. 

"I suppose that is true," she answered, 
returning my gaze, 

i( It is perfectly true," I replied* "Even 
a gentle girl like you may do terrible 
things in a moment of insanity,' 1 

"They tell me that I once did something 
dread Fu 1 /' she replied. 
" It comes over me 
now and then as if it 
were a dream, but I 
cannot distinctly recall 
it. Perhaps I am mad. 
I must have been if I 
did anything dreadful, 
for I hate, oh, I hate 
dreadful things! I 
shudder at crime and 
at cruelty. You said 
you believed in me, 
Dr. Halifax/' 

" I earnestly desire 
to help you," I said. 

"I have learned 
patience/ 3 she con- 
tinued, falling back 
upon her pillows and 
clasping her hands. 
M I lost all— all, when 
I came here, I have 
nothing more to fear, 
and no thing more to 
lose ; but I do wish to 

say one thing, and that is this : If I am in- 
sane, I don't feel it Except for that one dark 
dream which I cannot distinctly recall, I 
have none of the symptoms which attack 
other members of this unhappy establish- 
ment. It is my own impression that if I was 
insane for a moment I am sane again. Dr. 
Halifax, it is terrible, terrible, to be locked up 
for all your life with mad people when you 
are not mad." 

"It is too awful to contemplate," I 
answered, carried out of myself by her pathos 
and her words. '* 1 wonder you kept your 
reason, I wonder you did not become really 
mad when you came here," 

" For the first week I thought I should do 
so," she replied; " but now I am more accus- 
tomed to the people here, and to the sights 
which 1 see, and the terrible sounds which 
come to me. For the first week I was rebel- 
lious, fearfully rebellious; but now, now, I am 
patient, I submit — I submit to the will of God." 

" Pardon me," I interrupted " Your 
speaking of submitting your will reminds me 
of an expression you made use of when you 
were recovering consciousness last night; you 
spoke then of submitting your will to — to a 
certain human being. Is that the case ? " 

" Don't ! don't ! " she implored 

Her eyes grew bright as stars, her face 
became crimson. 

" You must not speak of him. To speak 
of him excites me beyond reason/ 1 




" Tell me his name, and I won't say any 
more," I replied. 

She looked fearfully round her. The 
emotion in her face was most painful to 
witness. She was evidently frightened, dis- 
tressed, worried ; but gazing at her intently, I 
could not see, even now, that there was any- 
thing in her actions or attitude which might 
not be consistent with perfect sanity. 

" I wish you would not try to get his name 
from me," she said ; " and yet, and yet, you 
are good. Why should not I tell you ? He 
is my friend. Dr. Walter Anderson is my 
dearest friend, and I shall never, never see 
him again." 

"You would like to see him again?" I 

" Like it ! " she replied. She clasped her 
hands. "Oh, it would be life from the 
dead," she answered. 

" Then I will find him and bring him to 
you. You must give me his address." 

" But he won't like to come here ; I dare 
not displease him. You understand, don't 
you, Dr. Halifax, that where we — we revere, 
we — we love, we never care to displease ? " 

"Yes, yes," I replied, "but if Dr. 
Anderson is worth your friendship, he will 
come to see you when he knows that you are 
in sore trouble and need him badly." 

"You can't understand," she replied. 
" My feelings for Dr. Anderson are — are not 
what you imagine. He is a physician, a 
great physician — a great healer of men. He 
soothes and strengthens and helps one, when 
all other people fail. He did much for me, 
for I was his patient, and he my physician. 
I love him as a patient loves a physician, not 
— not in the way you think. I am only one 
patient to him. It is not to be expected that he 
would give up his time to come to me here." 

" Let me have his address, and I will try 
if he will come," I .answered. 

When I said this, Miss Whittaker was 
much perturbed. It was more than evident 
that I presented to her a strong temptation, 
which she struggled to resist The struggle, 
however, was brief, for she was weak both in 
mind and body at that moment. 

" You tempt me too much," she said, in a 
faltering voice. "The address is in that 
note-book. Turn to the first page and you 
will see it. But, oh, remember, if he fails to 
come after you have gone to him, I shall die ! " 

" He will not fail to come," I replied. 
" Keep up your heart I promise to bring 
him to see you." 

I spent some time arranging matters that 
night in order to make myself free to attend 

to Miss Whittaker's affairs on the morrow. 
After my interview with her I was quite 
resolved to take up her case ; nay, more, I 
was resolved to see it out to the bitter end. 

There was a mystery somewhere, and I 
meant to fathom it Queer, excitable, 
nervous, this young girl undoubtedly was, 
but mad she was not She had killed a man, 
yet she was neither mad nor cruel. 

With Dr. Walter Anderson's address in 
my pocket-book I started for town on the 
following morning. I told my assistant 
doctor to expect me back in the middle of 
the day at latest. 

" Attend to all the patients," I said when I 
was leaving, " and in particular, visit Miss 
Whittaker. Tell her she is not to get up till 
I see her." 

Symonds promised faithfully to do what I 
wished, and I stepped into my train. I 
arrived at Charing Cross a little before ten 
o'clock, and drove straight to the address 
which Miss Whittaker had given me. 

Just before I reached my destination, a 
suddfen thought occurred to me. This 
Dr. Anderson, whose name was quite un- 
known to me, was doubtless in his own way 
a celebrity. Miss Whittaker had spoken of 
him with reverence as well as affection. She 
had used the expressions which w r e employ 
when we speak of those who are far above 
us. She had alluded to him as a great 
physician, a wonderful healer of men. Now, 
I, a brother physician, had never heard the 
name, and the address to which I was driving 
was in a poor part of Fulham. It would 
help me much in my coming interview if I 
knew something of the man beforehand. 

I pushed my umbrella through the window 
of the hansom, and desired the driver to 
stop at the nearest chemist's. 

I went in, and asked to be directed to the 
house of Dr. Anderson. 

" Do you mean Dr. Walter or Dr. Henry 
Anderson ? " asked the chemist 

" Dr. Walter," I said. " Do you know 

"Well, yes — not that we dispense many 
of his medicines." Then the man looked 
me keenly in the face, and I looked back at 
him. He was young and intelligent, and I 
thought I might trust him, and that perhaps 
he would be willing to help me. 

I took out my card and gave it to him. 

" If you can tell me anything with regard 
to Dr. Walter Anderson, I shall be very much 
indebted," I said. 

" Do you nv-an with regard to his special 
line?" asked the chemist \t\\\ 



" Yes, that and anything else you like to 
tell mc. I am about to see him on behalf of 
a patient, and as I do not know him at all, 
anything you can say will be of use." 

"Certainly, Mr Halifax," said the chemist, 
reading my name off my card as he spoke, 
*' Well, the fact is, Dr. Walter Anderson is a 
gentleman with whom we haven't much to 
do. He is not, so to speak, recognised by 
the faculty, Now, Dr. Henry w 

" Yes t yes, J) I interrupted, " but my 
business is with Dr. Walter. Is his practice 
anything out of the common ? n 

"Well, sir, I'll tell you what I know, but 
that isn't much. Dr. Walter Anderson went 
in for family practice when first I settled in 
these parts. He did fairly well, although he 
never placed, in my opinion, enough depend- 
ence on drugs. One winter he was unfortu- 
nate. There was a lot of illness about, and 
he lost several patients. Then all of a 
sudden he changed his mode of treatment. 
He went in for what you in the profession 
call fads, and Dr. Henry Anderson and other 
doctors who have large practices round here 
would have nothing more to do with him. I 
cannot but say I agree with them, although 
my wife holds by Dr, Walter, and says he did 
her neuralgia a world of good" 

" What are his fads ? " I inquired. 

" He has taken up what we used to call 
mesmerism, but what is now known as hypno- 
t i s m. Lots of 
women swear by 
him, and my wife 
is one. I shouldn't 
suppose you'd 
place much faith in 
such quackery, 

"Hypnotism can 
scarcely be termed 
quackery," I an- 
swered, " It is a 
da nger ou s remedy 
with small advan- 
tages attached to it, 
and possibilities of 
much evil Thank 
you for your infor- 
mation/' I added, 

I took my leave 
immediately after- 
wards, and five 
minutes later had 
rung the bell at 
Dr< Walter Ander- 
son's modest door. 

"So he is a 

hypnotist ! n I muttered under my breath, 
"That accounts for poor Miss Whittaker's 
surrender of her will, I must say I don't 
like the complexion of things at all. The 
hypnotist is one of the most dangerous pro- 
ductions of modern times," 

I sent in my card, and was shortly admitted 
to Dr. Anderson's sanctum. 

I was greeted by a tall man, with silvery 
white hair, an olive-tinted face and brown 
eyes, which gave me at once a mingled sensa- 
tion of attraction and repulsion. They were 
the kind of eyes which a woman would con- 
sider beautiful They were soft like brown 
velvet, and, when they looked full at you, you 
had the uncomfortable, and yet somewhat 
flattered, sense of being not only read through 
but understood and appreciated. The eyes 
had a queer way of conveying a message 
without the lips speaking. 

When I entered the room they gave me a 
direct glance, but something in my answering 
expression caused them to become veiled — 
the hypnotist saw even before I opened my 
lips that I was not going to become one of 
his victims, 

"I must apologize for taking up some of 
your time," I said ; " but I have come on 
behalf of a lady who is ill, and who is very 
anxious to see you," 

Dr. Anderson motioned me to seat myself, 
and took a chair at a little distance himself. 
" I have not had the pleasure 
of your acquaintance until 
now/' he said, "Is the lady 
known to me ? u 






" Yes, she is a great friend of yours — she 
tells me that you know her well. Her name 
is Miss Whittaker." 

Dr. Anderson turned hastily to ring an 
electric bell at his side. A servant imme- 
diately answered his summons. 

" If any patients call, Macpherson, say 
that I am not at home." 

Having given these instructions he turned 
to ine. 

" Now, sir," he said, " I am ready to give 
you my best attention. I knew Miss Whit- 
taker; hers is one of the saddest cases I 
have ever come across. I shall be glad to 
hear of her, poor soul, again. Are you 
her physician at the asylum where she is 
confined ? " 

" I am her physician pro tern. I am 
interested in her, because I do not believe 
her to be insane." 

Here I paused. Dr. Anderson was look- 
ing down at the carpet His face appeared 
to be full of a gentle meditation. 

" She was always a very nervous girl," he 
said, after a pause; " she was easily influenced 
by those whom she respected. I took an 
interest in Miss Whittaker : she was my 
patient for some months. My treatment was 
highly beneficial to her, and the outburst which 
occurred was the last thing to be anticipated. 
When you speak of doubting her insanity, 
you forget " 

"No, I forget nothing," I said, speaking 
with some impatience, for I did not like the 
man. " After all, Dr. Anderson, my opinion 
on this point is quite wide of the object of 
this visit. Miss Whittaker is ill, and wants 
to see you. She has a bodily illness, which 
may or may not terminate fatally. She wants 
to see you with great earnestness, and I have 
promised to do all in my power to bring you 
to her sick bed." 

Dr. Anderson raised his eyes and looked 
full at me. There was a steady reproach in 
them, but his lips smiled, and his words were 

"I don't know you," he said, "and I am 
quite sure you don't know me. I am more 
than anxious on all occasions to obey the 
call of suffering. I will go to see Miss 
Whittaker with pleasure." 

" When can you come ? " I asked. 

" When do you want me to come ? " 

"Now — if it will at all suit your con- 

" Miss Whittaker's convenience is the one 
to be considered. You heard me give orders 
a moment ago to have my patients dismissed. 
That means that I am at your service. If 

• Vol. vi.-23. 

you will excuse me for five minutes, I will 
be ready to accompany you." 

He went out of the room in a dignified 
fashion, and I sat and looked round me. No 
one could have been kinder or more prompt 
in attending to what must have been an 
inconvenient summons ; yet I could not get 
over my prejudice against him. I tried to 
account for this by saying over and over to 
myself : — 

" He practises hypnotism, and my natural 
instincts as a doctor are therefore in arms 
against him." 

But when he returned to the room 
prepared to accompany me, I found that 
my instinctive dislike was more to the man 
than to his practices. 

We had a very uneventful journey together, 
and arrived at Norfolk House early in the 
afternoon. I was met by Symonds in the 
avenue. I introduced him at once to Dr. 

" I am glad you have come," he said, 
looking at the doctor and then at me. " Miss 
Whittaker is worse. She is very weak. She 
has fainted two or three times." 

I was startled at the effect of these 
words on my companion — he turned white,* 
even to the lips — his expressive eyes showed 
the sort of suffering which one has some- 
times seen in a tortured animal. He 
turned his head aside, as if he knew that 
I witnessed his emotion and disliked me to 
see it. 

" This is too much for her, poor child," he 
muttered. " My God, who could— who 
could 'have foreseen?" 

" I will just go up and tell my patient 
that you are here," I said to him. "She 
longed so for you that doubtless you will 
have a reviving effect upon her im mediately. : ' 

" You need not prepare her," he said ; 
"she knows I am here already. You are 
perhaps aware, or perhaps you do not know, 
that I study a science as yet in its infancy. 
I am a hypnotist by profession. Over Miss 
Whittaker I had immense influence. She 
knows that I am here, so you need not 
prepare her." 

" Well, come with me," I said. 

I took him upstairs and down a long, 
white corridor which led to the young girl's 

It was a pretty room looking out on 
the lovely garden. The western sun was 
shedding slanting rays through the open 

Miss Whittaker ^as lying flat in bed, her 
arms and white hands were lying outside the 
UNIVbnbl It Or mlLnlbrirJ 



counterpane ; her eyes, bright, restless t and 
expectant, were fixed on the door. 

The moment she saw Dr, Anderson they 

became full of a sudden intense and most 

lovely joy, I never saw such a look of 

beatitude in any eyes. He came forward at 

-once, took her two little hot hands in one of 


fcis, and sat down by her side. I followed 
bim into the room, but neither he nor she 
saw me* The physician and the patient 
were altogether absorbed with one another, 

I went away, closing the door behind me. 

I did not like Miss Whittaker's look, I 
had already found she was suffering from a 
critical heart condition owing to the repeated 
strains and shocks which her delicate temper- 
ament had undergone. 

I could not attend to my other patients, 
Imt moved restlessly about, wondering how 
Jong Dr. Anderson would remain with her. 

4ie came out of the room much sooner 
than I expected. 

The look of real trouble and distress was 
Sfill most apparent on his face. 

■~* She is asleep now,"* lie said, coming up 
to me. 

" You have mesmerized her, then ? ,s I 

_ " Only very, very little, just sufficient to 
give her repose. She is extremely weak, and 

I am anxious about her. I should like to 
talk over her case with you, if- you will allow 

"With pleasure, 11 I replied. "Come with 
me to my consulting-room." 

We went there. I motioned the doctor 
to an easy chair, but he would not seat him- 

" You do not like me/' 
he said, looking full at 
me. " You distrust tne : 
I am an enigma to you." 
11 1 do not understand 
you, certainly," 1 replied, 
nettled by his tone. 

"That is evident," he 
retorted. " Notwithstand- 
ing, I am going to put 
implicit confidence in 
you, I am a man in a 
great strait. Since Miss 
Whittaker's arrest, and 
since the severe sentence 
pronounced against her, 
I have been one of the 
most unhappy men on 
God's earth. There was 
one right and straight 
course before me, and 
day after day I shrank 
from taking it. All the 
same, I knew that a day 
would come when I 
should have to take it. 
When you called on me 
this morning and men- 
tioned Miss Whit taker's name, I knew that 
the day and hour had arrived. That was 
why I desired my sonant to dismiss my 
patients— that was why I, a very busy man, 
leaping into popularity day by day, gave up 
my time at once to you.'' 

Here he paused. I did not interrupt 
him by a single word. I looked full at 
him, as he restlessly paced up and down the 

I( My opinion of Miss Whittakcr is this," 
he said, stopping abruptly and fixing me with 
his dark, curious eyes. " My opinion i> this, 
that if she stays here much longer, she will 
die. Po you agree with me ? " 

" I have not studied her case as carefully 
as you have," I replied. " Nevertheless, my 
opinion coincides with yours. Miss Whittaker 
is not strong — she is more than usually 
nervous. The sights she cannot help seeing 
in this place, the sounds she must hear, and 
the people ?>he must associate with, cannot 

but b !#W#^a»-:N Eve " if ■■" 



lives, which I doubt, she is extremely likely 
to become mad herself." 

"That is true," he retorted. "She is 
quite sane now, but she cannot with impunity 
live day and night, for ever, with the insane. 
She will die or go mad unless she is liberated." 

"She cannot be liberated," I replied. 
"She was tried for murder, and is here 
during the Queen's pleasure." 

He was quite silent when I said this. 
After a brief pause in his restless pacing up 
and down, he turned on his heels and walked 
to the window. He looked fixedly out for a 
moment, then turned full upon me. 

" You must listen to an extraordinary con- 
fession," he said. " In very deed, if justice 
were done, I ought to be now in Miss 
Whittaker's place." 

" You ! " I answered, jumping from my 

" Yes — I repeat that I ought to be in her 
place. Mr. Halifax, you don't believe in 
hypnotism ? " 

"I believe it to be a little known science- 
full of dangerous capabilities," I answered. 

" Yes, yes ; you have not studied it, I can 
see. You talk from an outsider's point of 
view. I believe in hypnotism, and I 
have acquired the powers of a hypnotist. I 
can exercise great power over certain people 
— in short, I can hypnotize them. As a 
physician I was somewhat of a failure ; as a 
hypnotist, I have been an enormous success. 
I have cured mind troubles, I have made 
drunkards sober, I have comforted folks 
who were in trouble, and I have removed by 
my influence the desire of evil from many 
hearts. Some of my patients speak of me as 
little short of an angel from Heaven. I have 
an extraordinary gift of looking right down 
into the souls of men ; I can read motives, 
and I can absolutely subdue the wills of 
those over whom I have influence to my own 

" This is a great power, and except in the 
case of Miss Whittaker, I can conscientiously 
say that I have only used it for good. She 
was the patient over whom I had the most 
complete influence. She was the most extra- 
ordinary medium I ever came in contact with. 
Circumstances arose which tempted me to 
use my power over her in an evil way. The 
man Willoughby, whom she killed, happened 
to have been an enemy of mine. It is 
unnecessary to go into particulars — I hated 
the fellow for years — he did me untold 
mischief — married the girl I had already 
wooed and was engaged to, amongst other 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

" Miss Whittaker came completely under 
my influence. Her health improved rapidly, 
and I found that by my will I could make 
her do anything that I pleased. 

" It so happened that by an accident Miss 
Whittaker and Willoughby met together in 
my presence. She had never seen the man 
before. I observed that when he came into 
the room she shuddered, trembled, grew very 
pale, and turned her head away. I guessed 
at once that my will was influencing her, and 
that because I hated him she did the same. 

" Instantly the desire came to strengthen 
her dislike. I willed her to hate him more 
and more, and so great was my power over 
her, that she made an excuse to leave the 
room, being unable to remain in his presence. 
The next time I met her, she said to me 
impulsively, 'I cannot get over the terrible 
horror I feel of the man whom I met when 
I was last in your house.' 

" I made no reply whatever, but hastened 
to turn the subject. 

"She had not the faintest idea that I had 
any cause to detest him. 

" Willoughby had come to live near me — 
we were friends outwardly, but his hateful 
presence came between me and all peace. 
The temptation grew greater and greater to 
exercise my will over Miss Whittaker in this 
matter — at last, with the result you have 
heard. It is true that I did not go to the 
length of willing her to kill him. This was 
but, however, the natural result of the hate 
I had inculcated. On a certain morning, 
this innocent, gentle, affectionate girl went 
to the man's rooms, and because I hated him, 
and because I willed her to hate him too, she 
took his life. 

"That is the story of Miss Whittaker's 

When Dr. Anderson Had finished speaking, 
he sat down and wiped the moisture from 
his brow. 

" I am willing to tell this story again in 
open court, if necessary," he said. " My 
agony of mind since Miss Whittaker was 
arrested baffles any powers of mine to 
describe. I am abundantly willing now to 
make her all reparation. Do you think there 
is a chance of her being saved ? — in short, is 
there any hope of the sentence against her 
being reversed ? " 

" It is impossible for me to say," I replied. 
" Had you given the evidence you have now 
favoured me with in open court at the 
time of the trial, the result might have 
been very different. May I ask you, Dr. 
Anderson, why your remorse did not lead 




you to make this reparation to your unhappy 
victim at the only time when it was likely to 
help her?" 

" I can give you a plain answer to that 
question. At the time of the trial I had not 
the moral courage to deliberately ruin myself 
by making the confession which I now make 
to you. You can f or perhaps you cannot, 
understand what it is to struggle with 
remorse- -what it is daily and hourly to bid 
your conscience be quiet In my case, it 
would not obey me ; it would keep calling 
loudly on me to repair the awful mischief I 
had done. 1 have spoken to you to-day — I 
have reposed full confidence in you* The 
question now is this : Can Miss AVhittaker 
be liberated, and, if so, how soon ? n 

* £ You will stand to the confession you 
have just made me, even though it lands you 
in the prisoner's dock ? " I answered. 

A queer smile crept into his face. 

*'That will not be my punishment," he 
retorted* " I shall lose my patients and my 
chance of success in life, but there are no 
laws at present to punish hypnotists. Even 
if there Were, however, I think — I think now — 
that I should be willing to abide the issue.' 1 

" In that case we must draw up an appeal 
to the Home Secretary," I began; "your 
.statement must be taken down in writing- 
I was interrupted by an imperative knock at 
the door. Even before I could reply it was 
pushed open and Nurse Hooper, very pale 
and frightened-looking, put her head in. 

"Will you come at once to Miss 
Whittaker ? '* she said M She's in a very queer 

"Let me come with you," 
Anderson, springing to his feet, 

We rushed up the stairs 
entered the sick girljjs room. 

Dr. Anderson had left her sleeping 
quietly, but she was not asleep now. 
She was sitting up in bed, gazing 
straight before her and speaking aloud 
with great rapidity. From the look 
in her eyes, it was evident she was 
gazing intently at a vision we could 
not see. 

"I gave up my will," she said. 
" I gave it up when first you asked 
me* It is yours to do whatever you 
like with. I have heard you telling 
me day and night to hate him- To 
hate him ! I do hate him. Now 
you tell me to kill him. Please don't 
tell me that. Please stop before you 
ask that. I'll have to do it if you 
insist, but don't insist. Don't lay 



this awful, awful command on me. Did 
you say you must? Did you say you 
would have to lay it on me? Then I'll do 
it ! I'll borrow my fathers pistol, it is over 
his mantelpiece, I can get it easily, No 
one will suspect me of hating that man, so I 
can easily, easily kill him. I know, of course, 
where this will lead — to prison first, and then 
to death. But if you ask me, I'll go even 
there for your sake. Yes, 111 go even there." 

Her words were low, intensely horrible to 
listen to, her face was deadly white. The 
fierceness, the hungry glare of a tiger gleamed 
in the eyes which were generally so sweet in 
their glance. 

"This is the house," she went on, in a hoarse 
voice. "I am knocking at the door. It is 
opened. I see the servant's face. Yes, he 
is at home. I am going in. That is his 
room to the left. Oh, how dreadful, how 
dreadful is the thing I have got to do I Dr. 
Anderson, I submit my will to yours. I 
obey the voice which tells me to— — " 




" Stop — hold ! " cried Dr. Anderson, sud- 
denly. u Take back your will. See, I give it 
back to you." 

He took her hands and forcibly laid her 
back on the bed. She stared up at him 
fixedly, and he gazed intently into her wide- 
open eyes. 

" Take back your will, Ursula," he repeated 
in an imperative voice. " Here it is — I 
return it to you. Be the gentle — the loving 
Ursula cf old once again." 

His words acted as magic. The hungry, 
angry light died out of the beautiful eyes — 
they grew soft — then they filled with tears. 

" I had a bad dream," she said, speaking 
as if she were a child. " It is over — I am 
glad to be awake again." 

" 111 stay with you until you are better," he 
answered — " until you fall into a gentle, heal- 
ing sleep." 

But, strange to say, when Anderson gave 
Miss Whittaker back her will, his power 
over her had vanished. Try as he would, 
he could not soothe her to sleep; 
by the evening she was more feverish 
than ever, and her condition was highly 

She lay in a state of delirium all through 
the night, but she did not talk of any 
more horrors. Her troubled spirit had 
evidently entered into a happier and more 
peaceful phase of memory. Her conver- 
sation was all of her mother who was 
dead, and of her own life as a light-hearted 

When the sun rose the next day, Miss 
Whittaker died. 

I have not seen Dr. Anderson since. It 
is my belief that he will never again try 
hypnotism, either for good or evil. 

by Google 

Original from 


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rfflv,flrf*rsm»t Original from 



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From a Ph- 
Emm ** i*}. 

From a J'h>.t .. '.y the Ltin4vn ijttrt&stu, 




HE too familiar words " De- 
clined with thanks," however 
unpleasant to receive, are 
scarcely supposed under ordi- 
nary circumstances to excite 
despair, Something, however, 
akin to that passion was legible upon the face 
of Elsa Vane T as she sat trying to master their 
curt significance. 

They were written upon a sheet of large 
note-paper t bearing in print the address of 
the offices of the London Month. On the 
table lay a torn envelope, directed with 
decisive clearness in the same hand to £ * Mrs. 
Thos* Vane, The Elms, Stam worth, Surrey." 
There were no signs, however, of the usual 
MS,, but beside the envelope lay a few sprigs 
of dried lavender There could be no 
mistake, She, Elsa, was Mrs. Thomas Vane ; 
she knew with too great certitude whose 
hand had written those words, and she was 
sitting in the dining-room of " The Elms, 

It was a pretty, home-like room, and the 
table was laid daintily for her solitary break- 
fast She poured herself out a cup of tea, 
and drank it, but she pushed the food away 

Vol. vi.— 24, 

Digitized by ^ OO^ J C 

untasted. Then she returned to the con* 
temptation of the ill-fated words. No, there 
could be no mistake. She held, only too 
clearly, the clue to their meaning. The evil 
wrought was beyond remedy, and the doing 
of it had been hers ; yet her un preparedness 
had been terrible. 

She saw there written the ruin of her own 
life, and of another, which only last night she 
had told herself she held more dear. At last 
she rose and went over to the fire, still 
holding the paper; the sprigs of lavender, 
also, she had gathered into her hand. For a 
moment she looked at these, as though she 
would have thrown them into the blaze, and 
so finished their decay for ever. Instead, she 
thrust them into the bosom of her dress. 
Then she took her accustomed seat in a low 
chair by the hearth* Her husband's chair 
was opposite, and she looked at it as though 
she could see there the handsome, clever face 
which had fascinated hen His nature was so 
cairn— sleepy, she had called it — she had 
never imagined it possible to anger him 
beyond recall She had known his love for 
her to be so deep, even when to herself she 
had professed to doubt it, that, in truth, the 




idea of its failure under trial had never 
reached her. 

She recalled painfully the story of the last 
two years. Her husband was nearly fifteen 
years older than herself when he had 
asked her to be his wife. His talent, his 
acknowledged position, had lent almost the 
character of condescension to the act. Not 
on his side ; he was the most humble-minded 
of men — but she had already idealized him 
through his writings. Yet he had told her 
that she was absolutely needful to him, that 
she ran through his conceptions as the model 
for all fairness. It had seemed to her as the 
voice of a god. 

Latterly, he had ceased to say these things. 

She had pictured a life of intellectual 
excitement and constant variety when she ex- 
changed the old Garden House in Cambridge, 
where she had lived with her aunt, Miss 
Poyntz, for the home of a man holding the 
literary and artistic position in the London 
world, of Tom Vane. Instead, she had been 
excessively dull. Her husband was much 
from home ; he was the proprietor and editor 
of the London Month — and he was collecting 
material for a new work. He liked the house 
twenty miles out of town for the sake of 
change and refreshment ; she hated it The 
deadness of the suburban village had much 
to answer for; she grew morose and de- 
pressed, brooding in her solitude over her 

She told herself finally that her marriage 
had been a mistake ; that she was no more 
to her husband than a source of occasional 
relaxation — and that she was deteriorating. 
The views imbibed from girl friends, 
chiefly graduates, lacking at any rate in per- 
sonal experience, revived. The development 
of woman was checked, and aspiration stifled, 
by the merging of her identity in the will of 
a man to whom she was a mere toy. 

Theories of this kind, somewhat super- 
ficially grafted on to a nature that craved 
incessantly, not only for affection, but for 
its expression, bade fair to work complica- 
tions in the fate of Mrs. Vane. She was 
utterly unable to conceal even momentary 
feeling, and she let her husband see plainly 
the effects of the phase through which she 
was passing, without attempting any expla- 

So far, her idea of change in him was 
purely imaginary ; he was placid and restful 
by nature. She still ran, like the finest 
thread, through the whole woof and web of 
his life ; but as daily widening interests 
claimed him, he did not forecast that she 

Digitized by G* 

would need daily assurance of the fact He 
felt the change in her, and feared with a 
dumb, aching pain that she was disappointed; 
that she regretted having married a man so 
much her senior, imagining that she was 
tired of his affection, rather than that she 
needed more of it The thought was present 
with him in the pauses of his work ; in his 
journeys to and from town; he grew more 
reserved, and less hopeful, losing buoyancy 

In this way the breach widened, and a 
crash became inevitable. 

One night he returned, after nearly a week's 
absence, only to tell her that he was starting 
for Edinburgh two days later. Her sense of 
injury culminated, and she, at last, gave it 
vent in no very measured terms. She said 
many things bitter for Tom Vane to hear and 
to remember. She told him that she had 
married him under a girlish illusion, before 
she knew what life meant ; she also spoke of 
her aspirations, and of her individual develop- 
ment Finally, she begged for freedom, that 
she might live her life, that she might realize 
— herself. How far she understood her own 
meaning was doubtful. He heard her 
patiently to the end. She saw that he was 
deeply moved, whether with pain or anger 
she could not tell. 

" You must be mad," he said, when she 
paused ; " but it shall be as you wish. Cer- 
tainly, I will not detain you against your will." 
Then he had left her abruptly ; the blow had 
fallen upon him when he was wearied both 
physically and mentally. 

Later he had come back, and put before 
her, as a brother or a friend might have done, 
the irretrievable consequences of her act, but 
he had not sought to influence or persuade 
her. His calmness exasperated her; and 
although growing rather frightened at the 
definiteness which her desire had taken, she 
would not draw back. 

Finally he had ceased all argument; he 
had entered, still with the same quietude, 
upon the easiest method of carrying out her 
wish. He had suggested that at first, at any 
rate, she should return to her aunt's house at 
Cambridge. She could go as if on a visit 
while he was in the North, future arrange- 
ments could follow, but he would lose no 
time in securing her comfort and freedom, as 
far as possible. 

She ventured no further opposition. The 
next day he went to town as usual — he was 
to remain that night in London, starting on 
the following afternoon for the North. Their 
farewell was quite unemotional ; he had the 

_- 1 1 Li 1 1 1 >.i i 1 1 ■_■ 1 1 1 




traditional horror of a scene, and she was 
thoroughly subdued. After he was gone, 
she busied herself with her preparations, 
collecting a few treasures, her own special 
property. She tried to feel some gladness, 
some foretaste of a possible future awaiting 
her, but her heart sank, aspiration seemed 
dead. Her thoughts turned persistently to 
the past and to the present ; the future was 
an utter blank. 

Was Tom really as indifferent as he seemed ? 
What would he feel 
when he next came 
home — after she was 
gone ? He had always 
seemed glad to come 
home, even last night 

Going through the 
house was a fresh trial. 
She was a careful 
housewife in spite of 
loftier aims ; now, 
everything would be 
left to the servants, 
there would be terrible 
waste and disorder. 
Even this accentuated 
the sense of general 
disturbance and un- 

In opening a box to 
look for some trinkets 
she came upon a 
packet of old letters. 
She knew them well 
enough — Tom's 
letters before they 
were married ; and 
tied up with them a 
little bunch of dried 
lavender. She had not 
looked at the letters 
for a year, nor smelt 
the lavender. She sat 
down now on the floor 
in the midst of the 
disorder she had 
created, with the 
packet in her lap. 
She would read them 

to herself, she called it taking a last look 
into an open grave, which was rather a 
strong expression ; afterwards she would — 
burn them. She began to read, with the 
lavender in her hand, and the tender, living 
words of a great love spoke to her anew, 
moving her nobler nature as they had 
moved it in the old days, and the 

Digitized by Gt 

•she came upon a packet of old letters. 

dried sticks in her hand bloomed again, and 
she was back in the old garden where the 
lavender bushes grew, and the sun was 

shining, and Tom was there — and 

The poor girl flung herself sobbing upon 
the couch ; oh ! what had she done — had he 
really changed so, and forgotten everything 
in this short while, or was it all through the 
fault of her own unrestful heart ? With the 
quick rebound into extremes that belonged to 
her nature she suddenly saw herself utterly 

in the wrong, false to 
her wifely duty, and 
the sacredness of her 
love. To be the wife 
of Tom Vane again 
seemed the highest of 
all aspirations. The 
days and hours in 
which he had left her 
were forgotten. She 
looked at her watch ; 
she was longing now 
to throw herself into 
her husband's arms 
and sob out all her 
folly and her repent- 
ance. But it was 
already too late in the 
afternoon to find him 
at his office if she 
went to town; but 
for her wickedness he 
would soon have been 
coming home. She 
would write; he 
would receive the 
letter the first thing 
in the morning, if not 
that night There 
would be time for 
him to reply before 
starting North — per- 
haps even to come. 
She wrote as sweet 
and penitent a letter 
as woman could write; 
her tears, the realities 
of the step which had 
been so fatally near, 
and the recurrence of 
the old strain of half-forgotten happiness, had 
deepened her nature. She humbled herself 
utterly, only asking him to remember her 
youth and impetuosity, promising that if he 
would bear with her she would strive to 
be to him the help and companion that 
he needed. She laid bare the doubts and 
distrust of the past months, and the revival 


1 84 


of the truth in her heart through the old 

As she wrote, it seemed to become clear 
that she had never seriously intended to leave 
him ; development that could l&d a 
woman away from the man to whom she had 
sworn fidelity, could be nothing but a false 

The game had been " dangerous," if it had 
been anyone but Tom ! But, with him, now 
that she had owned herself in the wrong, she 
had no fear. 

When her letter was finished, she bethought 
her of the lavender ; she folded it within the 
sheet, and added a postscript, recalling to his 
memory the day in the garden when they had 
plucked it together. He had told her that 
to his mind she was like it for softness of 
colour — he could see the purple shadows 
beneath the greyness of her eyes. Also in 
the endurance of its sweetness it was a 
fitting type of the quiet strength of their 
love ; and many other pretty things he had 
conjured out of the homely flower. Alas ! 
how miserably had she failed. Now she 
sent it to him, as a reminder and the strongest 
pleading, stronger than her words could be. 

She had posted her letter that night, and 
all the next day went happily about the 
house, feeling reinstated. 

Then — this morning — the answer had lain 
upon the breakfast table. The envelope, 
with the direction in the hand she knew so 
well, and within, the withered lavender and 
those three pregnant words. 

She pressed her hands to her bosom as 
she recalled that pain. 

Not the least part of it was the destruction 
of her faith, the irony of the official message 
was so untrue to the belief in her husband's 
nature which she had cherished, even when 
she was most rebellious. She was forced 
soon to rouse herself, for she felt clearly that 
there must be no further delay. She could 
plead no more ; the last breath of the 
fragrance of theis love was dead, and she had 
nothing to urge. Tom had finished the 
work she had begun, taken her at her word 
finally. She had laid bare before him the 
inner sanctuary, and he had looked back at 
her scornfully and derisively. It was a cruel 
wrong. Beneath it, his suggestion that she 
should return to her aunt's roof became 
intolerable ; she was in no mood to bear 
question or criticism, and the avoidance of 
scandal became a small matter where all 
was wrecked. She felt no responsibility 
towards Miss Poyntz, she was only her great- 
aunt, and, so long as Elsa could remember, 

had been feeble and querulous, often finding 
the presence of her niece a burden. The life 
of the outer world touched her but faintly ; 
probably, unless her niece returned to her 
roof, she would never fully understand what 
had occurred. 

Mrs. Vane was scarcely a strong-minded 
woman, but she gathered strength from a 
certain persistency of will that enabled her 
to surmount weakness when the need of 
action was clear. The beacon lights of as- 
piration had become painfully misty, but she 
was not long in forming her plans. 

She could take no help from her husband ; 
her private income would suffice to keep her 
from actual want, and she had education, with 
— she had been told — some talent, to fall 
back upon. She would go to Paris, and 
complete the studies she had begun at the 
Cambridge local school of painting, in con- 
nection with South Kensington. She had 
her certificates, and she knew the address of 
a Home for Students, to which she had once 
petitioned her aunt to send her. There, if 
she could not be received, she would, at any 
rate, be directed to a suitable appartement^ 
and to the best studios. She wrote a few 
lines to her husband. 

"Your reply has convinced me that my 
first judgment was right ; you will not be 
surprised that I have acted upon it. I beg 
to be relieved of all offers of assistance." 

These she inclosed and sealed, and laid 
the packet where she knew he could not fail 
to see it on his return. 

No further hesitation or avowed regrets 
delayed her preparations ; the following day 
she went to town, as the first stage upon her 

Mrs. Crawley, of 131, Marlborough Road, 
had not always let apartments. She was one 
of those unfortunate people who had come 
down in the world, and her descent had been 
rapid, and entirely owing to the speculative 
tendencies of Mr. Crawley. Although she 
had faced the position bravely enough, she 
was keenly alive to the discernment of her 
new lodger, Mrs. Poyntz ; who with rare 
delicacy ignored the landlady in the 
hard-worked gentlewoman. Mrs. Poyntz's 
own means limited her to rooms on 
the third floor, and her great loneliness 
may have led her to welcome her landlady's 
visits when the latter found leisure for rest 
after the toils of the day. For, although 
young, and more than ordinarily good-look- 
ing, the new lodger seemed strangely friend- 
less. No one called tpen her, and she rarely 




left the house save on business visits to the 
City. She had chosen her present abode 
because the rooms were large and inexpen- 
sive, because she had chanced to hear some- 
thing of the antecedents of Mrs. Crawley, and 
because she thought that here she was not 
likely to encounter anyone who had known 
her as Elsa Vane. 

She had had no very clear reason for 
adopting her mother's name in preference to 
her own, save that the latter had grown dis- 
tasteful, and painfully suggestive. Now, 
Elizabeth Poyntz was a useful signature, 
and she retained it Five years' struggle 
with fortune had wearied her ; as a painter 
she had met with no very marked success ; 
latterly she had added the writing of fiction 
to her original profession, and here old 
associations came to her aid, helping to lift 
her ont of the rawness of amateur effort 
Still, at five- 
and-twenty life 
seemed a dull, 
plane, and an 
longing drove 
her home. She 
had developed 
at any rate in 
patience, and 
realized, if not 
herself, some 
of the harder 
truths of life. 
She would not 
own to herself 
a desire to 
. tread the same 
breathe the 
same air as 
Tom Vane; she 
said that the 
fascination of 
the great town, 
murky and fog- 
laden, was 
upon her. She 
had occasion- 
ally heard of 
her husband 
through the 
He had written 
another novel, 
realistic and 
which had 


been well reviewed, and he still edited the 
London Month. She read the book, and 
judged that he had deteriorated ; she thought 
the tone cynical and worldly, and could 
dete<?t nothing favourable to any second 
overture on her part, had she felt the desire 
to make it 

For the rest, she was utterly alorie; her 
aunt, Miss Poyntz, was dead, and the house 
at Cambridge in the hands of strangers 
That news had reached her when in Paris 
Since that time she had travelled constantly, 
studying both in Belgium and in Rome, 
until her restless craving led her back to 
England. She thought she had attained in- 
difference, and had grown quiescent; but 
the vitality of sensation is apt at startling 
revival, oversetting all calculation. 

One afternoon she returned from the City 
with a face strangely moved from its usual 

passivity. She 
had seen Tom 
Vane in the 
Strand. She, 
herself, had 
been u n - 
noticed ; she 
had watched 
him pass from 
the doorway of 
a shop. He 
was very much 
aged; more 
than the lapse 
of five years 
would reason- 
ably account 
for. His beard 
was grey in- 
stead of black, 
and he stooped 
slightly. Elsa 
watched him 
until he was out 
of sight; she 
felt a sort of 
rage against her 
fate and against 
his hardness, 
against the 
man he was 
walking with, 
which must 
have been a 
form *of un- 
reasonable jea- 
lousy. When 

VANE IN THE ^W^tfTa I ^ 0I1Ce SCt 


1 86 


in there follows often a slight hurrying 
up of incident — effects succeed quickly, 
as smalt clouds gathering, and the swift 
splash of rain on a sultry day, Perhaps an 
unquiet atmosphere lends significance to 
every whisper of the coming storm rush. A 
further stirring of hushed memories had 
awaited Elsa Vane before she reached the 
door of 131. Near the corner of Old Queer 
Street a lame boy carrying a basket paused a 
lew paces in front of her, and gave in a 
rich, mellow voice a cry that was almost a 
refrain : — 



Who'll buy my preMy la- ven -da, Sweet la-ven-da t 

Sweet La-ven-der. The words died away 
with plaintive 
appeal, for the 
voice was rarely 
sweet Elsa was 
very tired, and the 
tears rose to her 
eyes. She stopped 
and spoke a few 
words to the 
lavender merchant 
before she turned 
into the gate, His 
face, like his voice, 
was refined. He 
told her that he 
had learned his 
cry from an old 
woman whom he 
used to hear call- 
ing in the streets ; 
he added, rather 
sadly, that his 
voice was wearing, 
although he only 
used it for this 
trade ; he was not 
so young as he 
looked, and the 
cry tried it When 
Elsa had turned 
towards the house, 
he paused a few 
steps further on 
and gave his call 
twice with clear, prolonged sweetness. Elsa 
felt that it was for her. 

Such peace as she had gained was at an 
end from that day ; memory grew vivid, 
quick-fingered, torturing ; and under this 
hand her present surroundings showed re- 

Digitized byT^OOglC 


pulsive and sordid. The sounds from the 
tavern ground their way into ears grown 
suddenly appreciative of only their hideous 
vulgarity, the daily routine of her life seemed 
harsh and unlovely. Behind it all, the refine- 
ment and sweet-scentedness of the home that 
had been hers shone far away, a rainbow- 
tinted vista beyond thoroughfares which 
were thronged and grey-hued. She felt 
jostled and wearied, and upon that mud- 
stained, fog-laden way the cry of the lavender 
merchant sounded very sweetly, like a song 
from home. She listened daily for its recur- 
rence, but it came no more. It had been a 
mere street-cry, crossing her life like other 
incidents of the streets, pregnant with im- 
pression, but it dwelt in her mind with 
curious persistency. 

This limitation of the God-given gift of 

song to the carry- 
ing of sweetness 
into sordid ways, 
waking Heaven 
knew what memo- 
< II ries of pure life in 

I '• tired hearts, grew 

to her somewhat 
strained imagina- 
tion into a parable, 
losing nothing 
from the uncon- 
sciousness of the 
singer, and bearing 
heavily upon her 
own failure ; the 
homely sweetness 
had been hers to 
disdain and cast 

One evening de- 
pression and hope- 
lessness seemed to 
have reached their 
climax. She had 
been to the Strand 
that day, and 
many times since 
she had seen Tom 
Vane, but had 
never encountered 
him again. She 
began to feel that 
unless she wished 
to become a mere ghost haunting the con- 
fines of his life she must wander away again 
in search, at any rate, of numbness. An 
aching of keen desire was becoming habitual, 
and scarcely to be borne. She leaned her 
head upon her arm, folded over the blank 




page — where the words refused to be written 
—and longed to sob out her loneliness her 
grief and her despair, her great wrong, for 
surely Tom had wronged her. 

Mrs. Crawley's knock upon the door 
startled her, and she tried to smooth away the 
signs of her trouble before she bade her land- 
lady enter. 

u I hope I am not disturbing you, Mrs. 
Poyntz. I fear you were going to write ?" 

il I cannot write a word ; pray come in," 
said Elsa, She pushed aside her papers 
impatiendy and drew forward an easy chair 
for her visitor. 

" You seem, as a rule, to find your work so 
easy," said Mrs. Crawley presently, with 
something of a sigh. ** I used to try at one 
time,, but I never had anything accepted." 

** Perhaps you did not persevere long 
enough, 1 * 

"Well, the last thing I sent was a poem. 
All my troubles came upon me not long 
after, and since that I have had no time to 
think about writing, 
Something very strange 
happened about that 
poem too*" 

" What was that ? " 
asked Elsa, indifferently. 

11 A matter in which I 
have always felt guilty, 
although it was not alto- 
gether my fault, but I will 
show you the papeT — it is 
in my desk. I can lay 
my hand on it easily." 

Elsa sat on, listless and 
idle, while Mrs. Crawley 
was gone in search of the 
paper. She expected to 
be asked to read some 
verses ; it would not have 
occurred to her that 
Mrs. Crawley could write 

That lady came back 
shortly, an old mahogany 
desk in her hand. 

" I thought I would 
bring the desk," she ex- 
plained, " There art two 
or three little things here 
I might ask your advice 
about ; but this is the 
paper I was referring to, 
it was inclosed with my 
returned poem," 

She had been search- 
ing among the bundles ^— * 

gilized by C-GOglC 

of letters while she spoke ; now she handed to 
Elsa an open envelope, 

Mrs. Vane took it carelessly; then she 
gave a little cry, for she saw that it had come 
from the London Mont A. Within was a 
short MS. poem and a folded sheet She 
opened the latter hastily. It bore the date 

February , 18S — , in Tom Vane's hand, 

and was closely written on three sides. There 
was no superscription, but after the first word 
she read on eagerly* At last she stood up, 
holding the back of her chair, and look- 
ing, almost fiercely, at Mrs, Crawley. 

" You — you have kept this letter for five 
years — after reading it— and knowing it was 
not yours," 

Mrs, Crawley glanced up quickly, 

" I am not so much to blame as you think. 

We were living in Street then, at our 

old home. When that letter came I was 
lying very ill ; my husband just glanced at 
it, and seeing one of my MSS, returned, 
threw it aside. He always laughed at my 

trying to write. After- 
wards, my little baby 
died. It was months 
before I even saw the 
letter, not till the crash 
came and everything 
was being turned out 
for the sale, then I 

"AT LAST *.M?> fiTfMJE ',"?.. * 


1 88 


found it lying in the study among a heap of 
bills, I thought I would write than, but I 
was in great trouble and perplexity ; somehow 
I put it off and forgot It was six months 
old, and I thought if it had been of con- 
sequence inquiries would have been made ; 
then, later, it seemed absurd to rake up the 
matter. I did not know how to account for 
the delay, Of course, I was to blame, but I 
never read more than the first few lines. 
It suddenly came into my mind to-night, 
and I thought there 
could be no harm in 
showing it to you 
after all this time, I 
had almost forgotten 

Elsa had listened 
to this explanation in 
perfect stillness. 
When Mrs. Crawley 
said that she had not 
fully read the letter, 
her face showed signs 
o f rel i ef . S he 1 eaned 
over a little, her out- 
spread hand pressed 
heavily upon the 
table, palm down- 

" It was a slight 
want of honour/* she 
said, 'quietly, " that 
was alt I have no- 
ticed that we women 
are apt to fail in that 
way towards each 
other; but there were 
great excuses. For- 
give me, if I speak 
harshly. This letter, 
it is mine, It was 
meant for me five 
years ago," 

Mrs. Crawley 
sprang up — scattering her balls of yarn, and 
dropping her knitting, 

" For you — oh ! Mrs. Foyntz, May God 
forgive me — can you ? Ever ? " 

Elsa did not seem to see the outstretched 

fl Ifyou don't mind," she said, measuring 
her tones, " will you leave me alone for a 
little while — quite aloneJ' 

There was no sign of agitation save the 
pitiful gather in the brows, the slightest 
tremor in the last words. Mrs. Crawley 
stooped and picked up her knitting. She 
had seen enough of the letter to know what 


its loss might mean ; perhaps even the key to 
the solitary life that had sometimes perplexed 
her. Her eyes were full of tears when she 
had recovered her balls of yarn, 

Elsa never moved until the door closed, 
leaving her to the blessed solitude ; then she 
sank down upon her knees, the sobs that had 
been so far away all these years shaking her, 
as she wept out her grief upon the friend's 
heart that fihe had found — Tom's letter. 
If, as has been said, the essence of tragedy 
is the nearness of 
joy, then had the 
fates of Tom Vane 
and his wife been 
tragic for the last five 
years, with a tragedy 
hinging upon an inci- 
dent that might have 
been burlesque. The 
words of the letter 
that all this time had 
lain in Mrs* Crawley's 
old mahogany desk 
— and but for the 
curious chain of cir- 
cumstances called 
chance, might so 
have lain until it 
crumbled into dust, 
and the sorrows 
that it cancelled were 
for ever dead — were 
these : — 

" I thank God, my 
darling, for your 
sweet words, and for 
the renewal of your 
confidence. I have 
such a short time to 
write, to say all that 
must be said, You 
reproach yourself too 
much, the burden of 
what you have 
upon me. My love 
or lessened for one 
mind in what I have 
from my tried middle 
it never will falter or 
But I have watched 
you and felt the change in you. God knows 
I hold our vows sacred, but I have a horrible 
fear lest the impulse of the moment should 
have wrung from you the truth — and the 
renewal of your tenderness been dictated 
only by a sense of duty. I will put my love 
for you to the test — the hardest If your 
heart allows that this is so — if you feel that 
Original from 



suffered lies heavily 
has never faltered 
moment — bear this in 
yet to say — also that 
age I can swear that 
slacken until death. 



your consent to our marriage sprung from 
your untried ignorance, and that you were 
robbed of your youth, I offer you such 
freedom as can still be yours, uncomplain- 
ingly, ungrudgingly. Although in some 
ways you are a child still, I trust you 
unhesitatingly, as I would trust one of God's 
angels. I know the pure uprightness of your 
nature. I have already told you that every- 
thing you can need shall be at your disposal. 
I am in hopes that you will feel that I would 
be to you something more than husband or 
lover— your most faithful friend. 

" All this I say only to set your mind at 
rest, to free you from self-reproach. But if, 
my wife, if your heart should desire to cling 
to me from deliberate choice — then — if ever 
the love of man compassed the life of woman, 
my love shall compass yours. I fear to urge 
you, to put before you the selfishness of my 
great desire. 

" I send you back a part of the lavender, a 
renewal of my faith until the days or years of 
our separation are ended, for that in the end 
you will come back to me I feel assured." 

Here the letter broke off suddenly, evi- 
dently through some interruption. Below 
had been added in pencil, now scarcely 
legible : — 

" Oh, my love, think well — something 
more than life is at stake." 

The whole was finely and closely written ; 
the sheet was large and folded in three, the 
fourth side was blank. Elsa saw plainly enough 
how it had happened, and in the hurry of the 
last hours among the numberless interruptions 
and distractions of the office, the folded sheet 
had been placed in the wrong envelope. She 
remembered that the lavender had been 
separately inclosed. 

Perhaps impotent grief at the wasted years, 
the loss of joy, was the strongest feeling just 
at first ; then a sense of wonder at the great, 
unselfish heart that had been so wronged, 
with sorrow and tender pity for the pain it 
must have laid at her door. 

Was it possible that its fidelity had 
survived even the needless cruelty of her 
farewell, the silence of these five long years ? 
Five long years — how could she approach 
him, and tell him all the truth, not knowing 
if she would be welcome ? She tried to form 
the words of a letter, but it seemed full of 
bald surprise. They had grown strange to 
each other, and their wooing must begin 
again , she could not tell him now that she 
had loved him all along. 

Then an idea came to her. She would 
weave their story, his and hers, into a tale 

and send it to him. He would surely read 
it when he saw the writing, and the signature 
— Elsa Vane. 

In this way she would discover his feeling 
towards her; if he let it pass unheeded, 
unanswered, she would know 

And if — but here she could not follow out 
the conclusions, for her heart trembled. She 
went back to her writing-table and began to 
write ; she wrote far into the night, until 
indeed the winter's day was near breaking, 
no longer hesitant for words or for matter. 
And when her task was done, she laid down 
for an hour of happy dreams, with Tom's 
letter beneath her pillow. 

She herself took the MS. to the office on 
the following morning, and saw it carried into 
his room. 

She had addressed it to him personally, 
and put her own name and address on the 
outside of the fly-leaf. She had also added 
a few lines in which she spoke of herself as 
"the writer," and begged him to give the 
MS. his personal attention. She felt she 
could do no more — only wait At any rate, 
she would have the right to ask for the 
return of the MS., and in that way she 
would be assured. She had tried to prepare 
herself for days of uncertainty, but wondered 
how she would bear them before the first 
hours of the afternoon were over. 

She walked the room restlessly, like a 
caged creature, starting at every sound, and 
feeling a sense of despair as every half hour 
chimed softly by her little clock. The dinner, 
which she had made some pretence of eating, 
had been carried away, and she had gathered 
herself over the fire. She knew that Mrs. 
Crawley would not trouble her to-night, when 
the servant came to say a gentleman wished 
to see her. 

It was over then. She had heard no sum- 
mons, nothing, but there was the hasty step 
upon the stair, and he was in the room — and 
they were alone. 

" Elsa — Elsa — do you mean to say I did 
that idiotic thing ? " 

" Indeed then, Tom, you did." 

But he could hardly have heard the words, 
although the whisper was not far away. 

Tom Vane had traced his wife to Paris. 
He resented bitterly what appeared mere 
groundless obstinacy and contempt, both of 
himself and all common sense. Partly in 
anger, and partly because he thought that 
through his silence she would the more 
quickly realize her folly, he refrained from all 
insistence of his desire for her greater 




comfort, and from any interference. An bitterly. The darkness had never seemed 

income amply sufficient for her wants had more hopeless than when she was nearest — 

been paid to her account at the Bank had she when he passed her in the Strand- 
chosen to draw it 

When, subsequently, he lost sight of her Were those five years wasted ? was the 

in her restless journeyings, he blamed himself question they sometimes asked themselves. 



by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speaker's Chair 



ONE of the most interesting 

"old books of the forthcoming season 

morality." will be the " Life of W. H. 

Smith," a work undertaken by 
his friend and colleague. Sir Herbert Max- 
wall. Sir Herbert, who combines the 
qualities of an excellent Whip with those 
that go to make up a successful literary man, 
will doubtless have found himself hampered 
in his task by the exceptional goodness of 
the subject of his memoir, I suppose the 
most depressing work 
of biography still in 
print is that which 
many years ago had 
considerable vogue 
under the title " The 
Dairyman's Daugh- 
ter." Mr, Disraeli, a 
keen judge of public 
taste, desiring at one 
time to say some- 
thing pungently de- 
precatory of Mr, 
Gladstone, o bser ved 
that he had no 
pleasant vices. Mr. 
Smith more fully and 
accurately came with- 
in this category. It 
will be impossible 
even for so attractive 
a writer as Sir Herbert Maxwell to make his 
biography as interesting as, for example, that 
of Becky Sharp. 

Mr. Smith was, in truth, monotonously 
good. Yet what was meant to be a placid 
life had its stream unexpectedly turned into 
turbulent courses. Prosperity made him 
acquainted with some notable work-fellows, 
and led him to take a part in making the 
history of England It was a strange fate 
that drew this modest, retiring, gentle-minded 
bourgeois citizen into being a colleague, first 
of Mr. Disraeli, and at last the very pivot of 
an Administration which had the Marquis of 
Salisbury for its motive power. 

I remember more than a dozen years 
ago, crossing Palace Yard, seeing I,ord 

Digitized by bO< 

Salisbury and Mr. W. H. Smith enter the 
precincts of the House by the archway lead- 
ing to the Ladies' Gallery. Mr. Smith had 
at that time, doubtless to his own modest 
surprise, been nominated First Lord of 
the Admiralty, the first of a series of 
uses made of him whenever the Govern- 
ment were in difficulty* ** When in doubt 
play trumps " is a time-honoured maxim, the 
wisdom of which some players are inclined to 
dispute. "When in difficulties play W. H. 

Smith )] was a game 
Mr. Disraeli first led, 
and was followed up 
to the last by Lord 
Salisbury with un- 
failing success. It 
was doubtless a mere 
accident, but I 
noticed that Lord 
Salisbury strode along 

pan ion 

taking no 
of his com- 
who walked 
half a pace 


behind him, as if 
feeling that he had 
no right to intrude 
on the meditation, 
or even the company, 
of the great patrician 
by whose side in the 
Providence had led 

Cabinet an inscrutable 
him to take his seat. 

This is a trivial incident which only riotous 
fancy could invest with significance. It often 
came back to my mind watching Mr Smith 
steadily yet surely marching to the first place 
in the aristocratic Cabinet, progress involun- 
tarily made, impelled not more by sheer 
capacity than by force of simple, honest, 
upright character In course of time it came 
to pass that the Cabinet of Lord Salisbury 
could have better withstood the shock of the 
Premier's withdrawal than of the resignation 
of plain Mr. Smith, 

Though the study of such a character is 
apparently lacking in dramatic incident, what 
may be done with it by competent hands has 




been triumphantly proved in another branch 
of literature, Mrs, Walforcl has made a 
charming and touching sketch, which not 
only in many respects recalls the sterling 
qualities of " Old Morality, 3 ' but, by a strange 
coincidence, bore his surname, ts Mr. Smith ; 
a Part of His life " was published long before 
the member for Westminster came to think 
he might succeed Pitt, Wellington, and 
Palmerston in the Lord Wardenship of the 
Cinque Ports, Yet if Mrs. Walford had used 
him as a model she could not have come 
to a closer or more striking appreciation of 
the subject. Naturally enough, she never 
dreamed of placing her Mr, Smith in the 
turmoil of political life, surrounding him more 
appropriately with the placidity of village life. 
But in respect of simplicity of character, 
sterling capacity, generous mind, and unfailing 
loving-kindness, her Mr, Smith and ours of 
the House of Commons are identical. The 
coincidence is completed by the fact that 
both unexpectedly died just at the time when 
everyone had discovered how good they 
were, and when the highest aim of their desire 
was within their reach. 

There is one episode in the life of 
this good man in which his biographec will 
find the element of tragedy the more 
striking when found ruffling the serenity of 
the commonplace. Those most intimate 
with Mr, Smith firmly believe that had he 
been less resolute to do his duty to his 
Queen and country he would have been alive 
at this day, a placid pillar of strength to his 
party in the House of Lords, He died at the 

post of duty, with a heroism that need not 
shrink from comparison with the most brilliant 
deeds recorded in the annals of war by sea or 
land, He had meant to retire at the close of 
the Session of 1 889, when the wearying illness 
that finally wore him away was beginning to 
sap his strength. At that time the Salisbury 
Government were already amid the breakers. 
The House of Commons was growing restive; 
the Ministerialists were disheartened ; the 
Opposition growing in strength and audacity. 
Not only was Mr. Smith the only man who 
could be counted upon to ride upon the gather- 
ing storm, but his withdrawal from the scene 
would have led to extremely inconvenient 
competition for the vacant post of Leader of 
the House of Commons. 

So he stayed on, suffering and patient, 
making his little jokes, declaiming his 
cherished copybook headings, sometimes 
genially laughed at, always trusted, and 
managing the peculiarly difficult business of 
the Leadership with an art the consummation 
of w + hich w r as its perfect concealment — per- 
haps even from himself. The last time he 
appeared in the House was on a sultry after- 




noon in July, Members around him were 
gay in summer garb. He had brought with 
him his carriage rug, and as he sat on the 
Treasury Bench he tucked it round his 
knees, remaining there through the sitting 
with haggard eyes> pale face, still bravely 

" A pitcher that goes often to the well will 
be broken at last," was a little tag he character- 
istically used about this time when one of 
his colleagues* cheerily remarked that he was 




looking better, and would be all right again 
after the recess. 

He was never seen in the House of 
Commons again, though this was not his last 
appearance in public The final journeying 
forth of the pitcher, the occasion when it, 
doubtless, received the final fracture, was on 
Monday, July 13th, 1890. The Shah was on 
a visit to I^ondon, and this day was fixed for 
a reception at Hatfield. AH the world were 
bidden to the festivities, which culminated 
in a great luncheon party on the Monday. 
Mr. Smith was one of the house party, arriving 
on the Saturday. He would have been much 
better in his bed, but the occasion was im- 
portant, and if he could only crawl along the 
path of duty, he would go. One of his 
fellow guests, a colleague in the Cabinet, 
tells me of his appearance at the dinner on 
Sunday night As he sat at the table he was 
evidently in acute paia 

" We could see death written on his face," 
said his colleague. 

But he talked and smiled and made-believe 
that nothing was the matter. He was in- 
duced to withdraw as soon as the ladies left 
the dining-room. So acute was his agony, 
his ancient trouble having developed in an 
attack of gout in the stomach, that he could 
not go to bed, passing a sleepless night in a 
chair. But there was the luncheon next day, 
with the big company down from London, a 
fresh call of duty which he obeyed. He sat 
through the meal, and gallantly went home 
to die. 

The end came at Walmer, after three 
months* additional suffering, borne with un- 
failing courage and patience. He was 
always sanguine that on the morrow he would 
be able to go out for a cruise in his beloved 
Pandora^ lying at anchor just off the 
battlements of the castle waiting for the 
Master, It seemed quite a natural and ap- 
propriate thing that on the very day the 
newspapers contained the announcement of 
his death, news came of the tragic end of 
Mr, Farnell, and as newspaper space is 
strictly limited, and the British public can 
give their minds to only one excitement at a 
time, there was hardly room to do justice to 
the quietly noble life just closed at Walmer. 

Colonel Kenyon is not, except 

petitions by chance, and unconsciously, 

'a humorist But there was 

one day in the Session when 

he flashed upon the pleased House a gleam 

of genuine humour. Being charged with the 

presentation of a number of petitions against 

the Welsh Suspensory Bill, he borrowed from 

the Library a huge waste-paper basket, stuffed 
the bundles of circulars therein, and, march- 
ing round the table in full view of a crowded 
House, deposited them in the sack which 
hangs at the comer of the table by the Clerk's 

This was premature, and, in the circum- 
stances, sardonic Colonel Kenyon being 


in charge of the petitions, might, but 
for the unaccustomed temptation of humour, 
have let them go along the ordinary course 
to oblivion. All petitions presented to the 
House of Commons are predestined for the 
waste-paper basket Colonel Kenyon, with 
a promptitude learned in tented fields on 
which forty centuries looked down, scorned 
circumlocutory habits, and put the petitions 
in the waste-paper basket to begin with. 

The right of petitioning the House of 
Commons is ancient, and at one time may 
have had some significance, even importance. 
It must have been prior to the lime of Dr. 
Johnson, that shrewd observer having in the 
hearing of Ml Boswell gone to the root of the 

"This petitioning," he genially observed, 
when the subject cropped up in conversation, 
" is a new mode of distressing Government, 
and a mighty easy one. I will undertake to 
get petitions either against quarter-guineas or 
half-guineas with the help of a little hot 

At this fin-de-stick, whilst a stable Govern- 
ment is in no wise distressed by a 
shower of petitions, the process of bringing 
them to bear on the House of Commons 
remains a mighty ea<>y one, in some cases not 




without suspicion of the help of a little hot 

This Session, concurrent with the intro- 
duction of a hotly contested measure such 
as the Home Rule Bill, there has been a 
notable recrudescence of petitions. It is true 
nothing in the way of petition presenting has 
equalled the famous scene in the Session of 
1890, when H the Trade" demonstrated 
against an attack by the Chancellor of the 
Exchequer upon their preserves, On that 
occasion the floor of the House, from within 
the Bar to the shadow of the Mace T was 
packed with gigantic wooden frames, con- 
taining massive cylinders reported to enshrine 
the signatures of 600,000 citizens anxious 
that the poor man should not have his 
noggin of neat spirits enhanced in price* It 
turned out upon inquiry, hotly made, that 
the Speaker, having heen approached on the 
subject, had given his consent to the peti- 
tions being brought in. But, as he apolo- 
getically observed, he had not taken into 
account the wooden cases. These, towering 
full six feet high, emrely obscured the view 
between the two sides of the House. 

Mr. Hartley was, by chance, making a few 
preliminary observations, and one at this day 


remembers with pleasure the keen solicitude 
displayed by the Radicals that the hon. 
member should not be embarrassed, and 
that they should have opportunity not only 
of hearing his remarks, hut of benefiting by 

full view of the orator whilst they were 
delivered, They stood up in their places 
craning their necks so that they might catch 
a glimpse of him, over what one irreverently 
alluded to as "these vats/* Suggestion was 
made that he should cross the gangway and 
continue his observations from the Treasury 
Bench. Mr, I.abouchere bettered this by 
proposing, in softest voice and most winning 
manner, that the member for North Islington 
might scramble on to the top of the cases, 
and from that coign of vantage address the 
Speaker, . In the end, the six House 
messengers who had brought in the cases 
one by one were summoned, and the things 
were ignominiously removed. 

That demonstration, which 
must have cost much hot wine, 
was not so successful as to 
induce repetition on similar lines. 
But petitions have, through the 
Session, still flowed in, and have, from time to 
time, been made the occasion for objurgatory 
remarks. Just after the House resumed at 
the close of the Easter holidays, the subject 
came up in piquant fashion with intent to 
show how vastly petitions against the Home 
Rule Bill preponderated. The Chairman of 
the Petitions Committee > whose withdrawal 
from Parliamentary life is regretted on both 
sides of the House, was asked to state the 
number of petitions for and against the Bill 
Mr. Mc Lagan set forth statistics which 
demonstrated the overwhelming activity in 
this field of the opponents of the measure. 
When the cheers this statement elicited sub 
sided, Mr* Dalziel interposed* and read a letter 








which would have interested Dr. Johnson 
had he been privileged to peruse it Written 
by the secretary of a Conservative Asso- 
ciation, it was addressed to hotel-keepers at 
places of popular resort on the southern coast. 
Accompanying it were printed petitions 
against Home Rule, and the hotel-keepers 
were begged to obtain as many signatures as 
possible, "whether by man, woman, or child/" 
u Your Easter visitors," the shrewd Con- 
servative agent added, " should be able to 
fill up several sheets." 

To a conversation which followed, Mr, 
McLagan contributed an interesting recol- 
lection of how a couple of years ago the 
Petition Committee had been called upon 
to deal with a case where a whole school of 
children had impartially signed a petition for 
(or against) some measure 
then engrossing public atten- 
tion. Another member was 
able, as the result of his 
ow f n investigation, to state 
that many petitions presented 
to the House of Commons 
were signed in a good flowing 
hand by infants in arms. 

These facts, familiar enough 
in the House of Commons, 
would seem to suffice to put 
a stop to the industry of 
petitioning. But, as the ex- 
perience of the Session shows, 
that anticipation is not 
realized. The cry is, "Still 
they come/* and the labours 
of the Petition Committee, 
over which for many years 
the late Sir Charles Forster 
presided, are as exacting as 
ever. It must, I suppose, be 
to someone's interest and 
advantage to keep the thing 
going. In what direction the interest lies 
is indicated in the statement, more than 
once made in conversation on the subject in 
the House, that the labour of obtaining sig- 
natures is remunerated at the rate of so much 
per hundred. 

That, with the rarest exceptions, petitions 
presented to the House of Commons have 
not the slightest effect upon its deliberations 
is an affirmation that may be made with con- 
fidence. One of the exceptions is to be 
found in the popular movement that de- 
manded the Reform Bill. But that was sixty 
years ago, a time when the public voice 
had not such full opportunities of expression 
as are found to-day in the Press and on the 


platform. For the most part, petitions ad- 
dressed to the House of Commons do not 
secure even the compromising attention at- 
tained by the comicality of the situation 
created by the appearance on the floor of 
obstructive packing-cases, or the reading by 
a member of letters disclosing the indiscre- 
tions of too zealous agents* 

What happens in the majority of cases 
is, that a petition being forwarded to a 
member, he quietly drops it in the sack at the 
corner of the table. When the sack is full it 
is carried out to one of the Committee 
rooms, and entry is made of the place whence 
each petition comes, of the number of 
signatures, and of the name of the Bill 
for or against which it is launched, The 
clerks attached to the Committee on Petitions 
subsequently glance over the 
list of names, and if there is 
anything in the array glaringly 
suggestive of irregularity, the 
Committee have their atten- 
tion called to it, and occasion- 
ally think it worth while to 
bring the matter under the 
notice of the H ouse with intent 
to have somebody punished. 
Otherwise the document un- 
obtrusively proceeds on its 
way to the paper mill, the 
House of Commons, all un- 
conscious of its existence, 
voting "Aye" or "No" on the 
various stages of the Bill with 
which it had concerned itself 
The most striking 
feature in the Ses- 
sion has been the 
position achieved 
hy Mr. Chamberlain, Nothing 
seen in his travels by Baron 
Munchausen, nothing re- 
the adventures of "Alice in 
Wonderland," exceeds this marvel Mr. 
Balfour has been the titular Leader of the 
Opposition ; but Mr. Chamberlain has 
ordered the plan of campaign, and has led 
in person all the principal attacks on the 
enemy's entrenchment* Mr Balfour has 
reigned ; Mr. Chamberlain has governed, 

Here is where the marvel comes in. It is 
no unusual thing for a prominent member of 
a party to break away from his colleagues in 
the leadership and set up in business for 
himself. But he invariably opens his shop 
on the same side of the street Mr. 
Chamberlain has gone over bag and baggage, 
has been received jntc the inner councils of 




corded in 




his ancient adversary, and, being there } rules 
the roost. There was a time within recent 
memory when he was of all public men 
the most detested in Conservative circles. 
In this respect he succeeded to the heritage 
of his friend and colleague, Mr + Bright Mr. 
1 iladstone they distrusted and detested. Mr. 
Chamberlain they loathed and feared, 

The scenes that 
took place in the 
House of Commons 
in connection with 
the Aston Park riots, 
which for bitterness 
and fierce resent- 
ment have not been 
equalled during the 
Session by any at Lack 
on an individual 
made from the 
" Unionist*' ranks, 
forcibly illustrate Mr. 
Chamberlain's posi- 
tion this time eight 
years ago in view of 
the Conservative 
party. He for his part 
joyously accepted the 
situation, hitting back 
swinging blows at the 
House of IjDrds that 
has "always been the 
obsequious handmaid 
of the Tory party," 

and at the larger body in the Commons and 
the country, the "men whom we have fought 
and worsted in a hundred fights, men who 
borrow our watch words* hoist our colours, 
steal our arms, and seek to occupy our 


position." That the relentless foeman of 
1 870-1 885 should be to-day the foremost 
ally, the most prized captain of the host he 
then fought, seems to be a phantasy of 

Who but must laugh, if such a man l here be ; 
Whu would not weep, if Amicus were he ? 

I low the miracle was wrought is a story that 
will doubtless some day be written large. 
Pending authoritative chronicle, there are not 
lacking those who trace the whole Story back 
to troublous days in May, 1882 At that 
time Mr. Forster, long at issue with some of 
his colleagues in the Cabinet, resigned the 
office of Chief Secretary* A new pathway 
had been selected by the Government in 
their relations with Irekmd. Coercion had 
been tried and had failed- Kilniainham 
Treaty had been signed. Mr. Parnell had 
come out of prison " prepared to co-operate 
cordially for the future with the Liberal party 
in forwarding Liberal principles." Lord 
Cowper had resigned the Lord Lieutenancy, 
and Earl Spencer reigned in his stead. 

In bringing about this transformation 
scene Mr, Chamberlain had been principally 
active, It seemed the most natural thing in 
the world that he should succeed Mr. E orster 

at Dublin Castle. 
That he was prepared 
to do so and expected 
the appointment were 
matters certainly 
understood in the 
House of Commons 
at the time. A mem- 
ber of the Irish party, 
then as now pre- 
dominant in its 
councils, telb me that 
on the 4th of May, 
1882 (the day Mr 
Forster announced in 
the House of Com- 
mons the reasons for 
his resignation), Mr, 
Chamberlain had an 
interview with him 
and sought his 
counsel as to the 
course he should 
Like in the contin- 
gency of the Chief 
Secretaryship being 
offered to him. This gentleman, with 
characteristic bluntness, asked whether the 
offer had been made. Mr. Chamberlain, with 
a meaning smile, said (t No." 

That the offer v/ould be made was as- 





sumed, as a matter of course, by both parties 
to the conversation. The friendly Irish- 
man* whilst welcoming, as all his political 
friends did* the prospect of accession to the 
Chief Secretaryship of a statesman then above 
all others pledged to Home Rule, on personal 
grounds advised Mr. Chamberlain not to 
tiike the office, foreseeing, as he said, that it 
would bring upon him incessant trouble and 
possibly political ruin. On the next day, 
Friday, the 5th of May, the writ for a new 
election for the West Riding was moved 
consequent on the acceptance by Lord 
Frederick Cavendish of the post of Chief 
Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant The 
Irish member whom 1 am quoting added 
the amazing and, save on such authority, the 
incredible statement that the first intima- 
tion of this arrangement Mr. Chamberlain 
received was when, from his place on 
the Treasury Bench, he heard the writ 

If this story is true —and if I were at liberty 
to mention the authority it would be accepted 
as unimpeachable — it does much to explain, if 
not to excuse, Mr. Chamberlain's subsequent 
action, and the attitude of relentless ani- 
mosity he has since exhibited towards Mr, 

The long fight in the Commons 
the over the Home Rule Bill has 
duello, been rather a duet than a pitched 
battle. Night after night the 
forces were marshalled on either side ; firing 
was incessantly kept up ; brigades engaged, 
and now and then, from other quarters than 
the Treasury Bench and the corner seat 
of the third bench below the gangway, a 
speech was made that attracted attention* 
For the most part it was dull, mechanical 
pounding, varied now and then by a per- 
sonal contest between Mr, Gladstone and 
Mr. Chamberlain. The House was invari- 
ably crowded when Mr Chamberlain spoke. 
For him the audience was comprised in the 
one figure on the Treasury Bench. Mr. 
Gladstone, when he spoke, habitually turned 
round to the corner seat below the gangway, 
and personally addressed his " right hon. 
friend. }i 

It was jarring throughout to hear the use 
of this phrase bandied across the gangway. 
Mr Gladstone used it sparingly. Mr, 
Chamberlain interlarded his speech with 
it, investing the simple phrase with many 
shades of meaning, nont; particularly friendly. 
Once Mr. Gladstone, contrary to his 
habitude, moved to a personal jibe, audibly 
interposed with- the remark, "Which 'right 

Vol. vi,-^a> 

igiiized by VjOOS Ic 


hon. friend J ? The right hon. gentleman has 
so many right hon, friends," 

That hint 
would have 
been taken by 
some more 
people. Mr- 
Chamberlain is 
not inclined to 
forego one of 
his advantages. 
He has never 
quarrelled with 
Mr. Gladstone, 
He still reveres 
him as the 
greatest states- 
man of our time, 
still thinks of 
him in connec- 
tion with a lofty 
whose magni- 
tude we do not 
a ppreciate 
whilst we are still close to it. Still he resents 
the action of " men who, moved by motives 
of party spite, or eagerness for office, have 
not allowed his age, which should have 
commanded their reverence ; his experience, 
which entitles him to their respect ; his high, 
personal character, or his long services to his 
Queen and his country, to .shield him from 
vulgar affronts and lying accusations." But 
Mr. Gladstone has gone 
wrong on the Home Rule 
Question, as, in quite 
another sense, he was 
wrong in the spring of 
1882. Mr, Chamberlain, 
giving the first place to 
the interests of his 
country and sternly loyal 
to a sense of duty* has 
found himself leading 
the Conservative party 
against its former chief. 
But it is only the political 
leader from whom he 
has parted. He still re- 
tains the " right hon. 

There was a time when 
it seemed that Mr, 
Chamberlain, in stepping 
outside the pale of the 
Liberal party, had volun- 
tarily suffered political -the iight hon, rwwia." 




ostracism. It was a view in which to a 
certain extent he appeared to acquiesce. 
For a considerable period approaching the 
term of the last Parliament he was content 
to take a back seat in politics. Occasionally 
he appeared at a public meeting in the 
country. In the House of Commons he was 
not often seen, and still more rarely heard. 
He came down for the questions, went off in 
good time for dinner, and was seen no more 
through the sitting. If a division were pend- 
ing, or any interesting speech expected, he 
broke through the rule, coming down in 
evening dress, dined and debonair. 

It is apparently a small matter, Teally 
of profound significance, that, during the 
present Session > Mn Chamberlain, whilst in 
nightly attendance, has not half-a-dozen times 
been seen in dinner dress. He must needs 
dine ; but he performs the incidental duty 
as the Israelites fed at Passover time, with 
loins girded and staff in hand. He has 
been the backbone of the opposition to the 
Home Rule Bill, tireless, 
unfaltering, and ruthless. It 
is probable that but for him 
the Conservative gentry, 
weary of the monotony of 
constant attendance and in- 
cessant divisions, would have 
retired from the fight, con- 
tent to leave the final des- 
truction of the Bill to the 
House of Lords. Mr. 
Chamberlain has been piti- 
less, No point has been too 
minute for his criticism, none 
too large for his virile grasp. 
Through it all he has never 
swerved from the urbane ? deferential manner 
with which he has turned to discuss succes- 
sive points with his " right hon. friend " on the 
Treasury Bench* 

Now and then a quick ear might detect 

more ^ 




metallic notes in the ordinarily soft voice, or 
a watchful eye might observe a gesture that 
mocked the friendly phrase and the almost* 
reverential attitude. These were idle fancies, 
possibly born of meditation on what may 
never have taken place in those far-off May 
days, when Mr. Forster was fighting forlornly 
at his last outpost 

M. P. writes : As I read The 
Strand Magazine month by 
month through the Session I 
come to the conclusion that you 
must have either a marvellous 
memory or a priceless note-boolc I remem- 
ber very well O'Connor Power's prematurely 
reported speech in the House of Commons, 
but thought others had forgotten it It was 
published, not, as you suggest, in a local 
paper^ but in Freetmatis journal^ then in 
the plenitude of its power and the full tide 
of its circulation. May I add to the details 
you give that the speech, evidently elaborately 
prepared, finished up by way of perora- 
tion with the not unfamiliar 
lines from Tennyson about 
" Freedom broadening slowly 
down from precedent to 
precedent'*? In the too- 
previous report it was stated 
that this passage was received 
with "enthusiastic cheering/' 
O'Connor Power actually 
got off the speech on the fol- 
lowing night. As ? at the hour 
when he caught the Speaker's 
eye, no copy of Freeman's 
Journal had reached London, 
•*htil*5sI* he was presumably safe from 

immediate consequences of 
the accident But some of his compatriots, 
learning by telegraph what had happened, 
gave him away, and when he arose to deliver 
the cherished oration, he was met by hilarious 
cries of " Spoke ! Spoke ! )T 

by Google 

Original from 

"An Awkward Fix'' 

Translated from the French. 



ON FOUND it I Wherever 
can Charlotte be ? M 

It is M. Chapoulot who 
speaks , and, as the words 
show, M. Chapoulot is out 
of humour. Ordinarily M. 
Chapoulot is as good-tempered and easy-going 
as one would expect in a man of sixty, who, 
having been, like John Gilpin in his day, a 
linen-draper bold, has in good time retired to 
enjoy a modest competency in repose. Your 
wealthy London tradesman, now t who has 
grown rich beneath the shadow of St. Paul's, 
if he retires at all before death or disease puts 
him suddenly hors de combat^ flies off to spend 
his fortune at Brighton, or Bath, or Chelten- 
ham — -anywhere rather than in the great 
Metropolis where he has made it But M. 
Chapoulot, like the true Parisian he is, will 
never desert his Ville Lumifere, and has 
retired no farther than from the bustle of the 

by LiOOgle 

boulevards to the more peaceful Rue de la 

There he now lives with his only daughter 
Charlotte and an old faithful servant of the 
family, and it is the former whom he is at 
this moment impatiently awaiting. 

It is dinner-time with the Chapoulots, who 
dine at six. One might see it by the snowy 
table-cloth, the neatly rolled serviettes with 
their little ivory rings, the plates, the glasses, 
and there, lifting its head in sovereignty over 
all, the tall wine-bottle with itsfefit blanc vin, 
which is to the Parisian what tea and coffee, 
and beer, and all the beverages of the day 
are to the average Englishman. 

NL Chapoulot always begins his dinner 
with punctuality, but he has never begun it 
without Charlotte. And Charlotte comes 
not Fi ve m i n u t es pas t si x , an d M , C ha poulo t 's 
impatience becomes annoyance \ ten minutes, 
and it is even anger ; a quarter past, and he 




is furious. Hunger, they say, will tame a 
lion, but it will none the less ruffle the 
equanimity of a saint Wherever can Char- 
lotte be? She has gone this afternoon to 
take her music-lesson in the Boulevard 
Barbesse, She goes three times a week, and 
always returns in ample time for dinner. 
Twenty past, anger begins to give way to 
nervousness ; five-and -twenty, it is alarm ; 
half-past six and no Charlotte, M. Chapoulot 
is trembling with anxiety. Hurriedly he sum- 
mons the old servant, asks for his hat and 
boots; he will go out himself and see what- 
ever may have happened. 

But suddenly there was a merry little rap 
at the door, and Charlotte enters. No evil 
can have come, for there she stands in the 
doorway, smiling, radiant, in all the ease and 
grace of la petite Parisienm* 

" Oh ! papa — 

r— w 

But M, Chapou- 
lot's fear gone^ his 
impatience again 
usurps su pre macy , 
and reassured about 
the safety of his 
daughter, he begins 
to feel anxious for 
the flavour of his 

" Come to table 
first. You can tell 
me while eating. 1 
shall understand 
better then/ 1 

"Oh ! but, papa ! 
you don't know. I 
have had an adven- 
ture I" 

"An adventure ! M 
exclaims M. Chapou- 
lot, starting from his 
seat, and dropping 
his spoon into the 
soup upon which he has already com- 

"Yes, papa ! an adventure in the omnibus 
with a young man," 

"The omnibus — with a young man ! Par- 

" But with a young man comme il faut f 
papa, I can assure you." 

"You ought to know, Charlotte, that a 
young man comme il faut has no adventures, 
above all in an omnibus. Whatever do you 
mean ? Jl 

"It is very simple, papa. You need not 
make such a cruel face. I had forgotten ray 

Digitized by GoOglC 

purse. That is a thing which happens often 

enough " 

" Yes, yes ; especially to those who haven't 
got one. Go on." 

" I never discovered it until the conductor 
held out his hand to take my fare. What 
could ] do? What could I say? I should 
be taken for a pauper — for an adventuress, 
perhaps, I was crimson, I was pale, I felt 
that I should faint ; when, happily, a young 
man who sat next to me gave the conductor 
a piece of silver, saying, * Take for two.' 
This gentleman, seeing ray embarrassment, 
had kindly paid for me," 

11 Well, miss, you have done a nice thing. 
Accept six sous from a stranger ! You had 
better have explained to the conductor, to 
the driver, to all the company. But people 
should not forget their purses — I never do. 

And now, how will 
you return his 
money? You will 
never think of keep- 
ing it ? " 

"I have his card, 
papa : M, Ag^nor 
Baluchet, clerk at 
the Ministry of— — " 
But papa, with- 
out hearing another 
w T ord, has snatched 
the piece of paste- 
board from her hand, 
exclaiming : — 

" What? This 
getttleman, not con- 
tent with insolently 
lending his six sous, 
has had the impu- 
dence to force his 
card upon you into 
the bargain ! He is 
a very scoundrel, 
your young man 
comme il 'faut™ 
" But, papa, I could not return his money 
if I did not know his address," 

M. Chapoulot has not a word to answer to 
this ingenuous argument, but, with a gesture 
of the intensest irritation, throws down his 
serviette upon the table* 

" It is written that I shall not dine this 
evening/' he says to the old servant. "Find 
me a cab at once. I am going to restore to 
this Agenor his six sous immediately, and 
to tell him a few truths as well." 

"But, papa, that will be ingratitude. You 
must remember that this young man has 
saved your daughter from un faux pas ™ 


an adventure: exclaims M. CHAJ'OULOTV 


20 1 

11 Un faux pas ! He has rather led you 
into one. But, silence, miss ! I am not 
going to receive lessons, above all lessons in 
memory, from a silly girl who forgets her 

M. Chapoulot has taken his hat, and looks 
even more enraged than ever. 

The old servant comes back. "A cabman 
is at the door* but he will only agree to a 
single journey," 

" Oh ! that will do. I can easily find 
another to return. 1 ' 

And Mp Chapoulot goes out in furious 
haste, while Charlotte timidly confides to the 
sympathizing servant that she knows even 
more of the young man than she has dared 
to say. For a month past he has regularly 
travelled in the same omnibus, and she has 
noticed that he has noticed, etc., etc. 

Ag£nor, in his bachelor apartment, sits 
thinking over his 
experience of the 
evening, and vowing 
he will not wash 
until the morn- 
ing the hand that 
had been touched by 
the dainty fingers of 
Charlotte when she 
received the card. 

Suddenly a sharp 
rap at the door, a 
violent opening, 
and a stout gentle- 
man, out of breath, 
his hat upon his 
ears and cane in 
hand, breaks in 
upon his dreaming. 

" Monsieur ! " ex- 
claims the invader, 
" your conduct is 
scandalous. You 
are not worthy the 
name of a French 
gentleman. An 
honest man would 
never take advan- 
tage of the embarrassment and inex- 
perience of a young lady. To profit by 
the absence of a father and a purse, to 
offer your money — and your card into the 
bargain — to an unprotected girl, it may be 
a good investment, but it is a bad action. 
I have brought you your six sous again, 
and would have you to know, sir, that, as 
for my daughter and myself, we wish to have 
nothing to do with you." 

Digitized by LiOOSK 


And the stout gentleman, trembling with 
his vehemence, puts his hand into his pocket 
to get the money, when, before Aggnor 
has time even to recover from his bewilder- 
ment, a new actor enters upon the scene. 
It is the cabman, all furious, with an oath 
upon his lips, and brandishing his whip in a 
threatening manner. 

" Eh ! you ! What do you mean ? You 
engage me for a single journey, I tell you 
I cannot stay. You even order me to 
hurry. And then you jump from my cab 
like a madman, and rush in here without a 
word. None of that for me. I have only 
one thing to ask. Pay me my money quickly, 

or -" And the whip goes round again 

more emphatically than before. 

Ag£nor understands nothing of it But 
the stout gentleman;, who has searched 
vigorously in all his pockets, becomes sud- 
denly pale, then red, then redder still, then 

crimson, then violet. 
He is silent in 
stupefaction a 
minute, and then, 
in answer to a 
more vigorous de- 
mand from the cab- 
man, he manages to 
falter :— 

" I have — forgot- 
ten — my — purse ! " 
"Oh, yes! I 
know," cries the 
enraged cochen *' I 
have seen that 
dodge before. You 
needn't try it on 
with me. Come 
along ! you shall 
tell your tale at the 
police-office." And 
he begins to drag 
away by the shoul- 
ders the unfortunate 
Chapoulot, who is 
ready to fall into an 
apoplectic fit. 

But Ag^nor, a 
true providence for the family, draws from 
his pocket the necessary sum, and dismisses 
the driver. 

" You will allow me, sir/' he says to M. 
Chapoulot, who, all at once understanding 
that it is possible to forget one's purse, and 
that of all friends a friend in need is one 
indeed, can only reply with a smile : — 

u Monsieur — M. Baluchet, I believe — 
thirty centimes fo^frtiwi omnibus and one 




franc seventy-five for the cafy that makes 

forty -one sous I owe you. If you will be 

good enough to dine with me this evening, 

we will settle our affairs at once. As an old 

business man, I like 

not outstanding 

debts. Besides, 

ready reckonings 

always make good 


A quarter of an 
hour later the ser- 
vant puts a third 
plate upon the table 

in the Rue de la TroeadeVo. A month later 
there is a stilt larger party, when the wedding 
of Charlotte and Agenor is celebrated. And 
M Chapoulot will often say to those who 

care to hear him : — 
" Beware of bor- 
rowing, oh I fathers 
of families. (Test 
un faux pas, I 
made once a debt 
of forty -one sous, 
and could only re- 
pay it with a dowry 
of twenty thousand 


by Google 

Original from 

From London to Chicago. 

By James Mortimer. 

ROM the greatest capital of 
the Old World to the young 
giant city of the Western 
Hemisphere is now ? com- 
paratively speaking, only a 
step. The tourist may leave 
London, for example, on Wednesday or 
Saturday morning, and, with average fair 
weather, will cross the Atlantic in six or 
seven days from Liverpool. Arriving at 
New York in the morning, he will have 
ample time to take his place in a car the 
same day at noon, and, without any change 
of train, travel a thousand miles westward 
during the next twenty-four hours, finding 
himself the next day in Chicago, scarcely more 
than a week after 
his departure 
from London. 

As a matter of 
fact, in this age 
of rapid locomo- 
tion on land, sea, 
and river, the 
voyage from Eng- 
land to America 
is an undertaking 
of scarcely more 
importance than 
a trip to Vienna, 
Rome, or St. 
Petersburg. It is 
certain that the 
last two or three 
decades have 
witnessed an 
astounding de- 
velopment of the 
means provided 
for transporting 
the travelling 
public with ease 
and comfort 
across the broad 
waters which roll 
between the 
Eastern and 
Western Hemi- 

My last pre- 
vious journey 
from Liverpool 

( From a Paintinv h v W 

by V^QGglC 

to New York was made in 1865, twenty- 
eight years ago ; and the difference between 
one of the crack Atlantic steamers of that 
period and the splendidly-appointed modern 
steamship which recently carried me across 
the Atlantic seemed to me almost incredible. 
I do not propose here to institute a com- 
parison w T hich would offer to the reader only 
a retrospective interest. Suffice it to say 
that the advantages of the change which 
has taken place in ocean steam navigation 
during the past thirty years rest entirely with 
the improved methods employed at the 
present day for increasing the rapidity, the 
security, and the luxury of modern travel. 
Through the courtesy of the *' White 

Star * authorities 
at Liverpool, my 
companion and 
myself were per- 
mitted to go on 
board the Maps- 
tic some hours 
before the time 
appointed to re- 
ceive the saloon 
passengers, and 
were thus ena- 
bled to witness 
the embarkation 
of nearly a thou- 
sand emigrants, 
on their way to 
America* Of 
these a large 
majority were 
mostly Swedes, 
the remainder 
being of different 
European nation^ 
alities, including 
a relatively smafl 
proportion of 
English. We 
stood at the sur- 
geon's elbow as 
these sturdy pas- 
sengers filed past 
and were sub- 
jected to the 
Tw*n*A.jQm usual rapid exa- 




Ftuw. Cf J 


\.l*h'jtf>i} r ' a i j h- 

mination, the vigilant eye of the doctor 
immediately detecting any apparent symp- 
toms of unhealthiness requiring closer 
scrutiny, which in the instance of a very few 
amongst the number seemed to be necessary. 
These were detained until the remaining 
emigrants, together with the second cabin 
passengers and the ship's crew, had filed past, 
after which the suspicious-looking symptoms 
of two or three children were carefully 
examined and found to require no more 
serious remedy than soap and water, which 
the anxious parents were ordered to apply 
without delay. 

All the passengers, luggage, and Liverpool 
mails were on board by two o'clock* There 
was the customary waving of hats and hand- 
kerchiefs, from the tenders and other small 
craft in the broad river, as the stately 
Majtstic glided slowly, and without the 
slightest vibration from her great engines, 
past the long vista of Liverpool docks and 
ware houses j on her voyage towards the shores 
of the Western World. The total number 
of souls on board, passengers and crew, was 
1,415. When we were fairly under way, the 
first cabin passengers were summoned by 
sound of trumpet to luncheon in the saloon, 
which is in reality a spacious banquet-room 
over 6oft long and nearly as wide. On all 
sides of this magnificent hall, and adorning 
the immense canopy which covers it, is a sea 

by Google 

of ivory and gold, 
crowned with a 
dome of elegant 
ornamental panels. 
The remaining 
ornamentation is a 
profusion of tritons, 
nymphs, and, as 
Sam Weller would 
put it, " fahberlous 
animals of that 
soft," whilst the 
light of numberless 
electric lamps 
flashes across the 
ceiling at nightfall. 
The fore and aft 
ends of the saloon 
are decorated with 
fine specimens of 
carved oak, and the 
couches and seats 
are luxuriously up- 

Adjoining the 
main entrance of 
the saloon, on the 
promenade deck, is a large and comfort- 
able library, containing an excellent collec- 
tion of standard and contemporary books. 
This apartment is panelled in light oak, and 
is bright and attractive, being lined at the 
sides by windows covered with glass shutters 
of Italian design, admitting a subdued and 
mellow light, further augmented by the stained- 
glass dome. I-arge panels artistically orna- 
m en ted with different tapestries, relieved by 
soft colours that attract the eye, add to the 
elegance of the room. Further aft, on the deck 
below, is the smoking-room, one of the most 
comfortable apartments of the ship, and the 
favourite lounge of the male passengers, a 
large proportion of whom whiled away many 
hours daily within its pleasant precincts. 
Here was nightly held the auction sale of 
the pool, based on the figures of the ship's 
run each twenty-four hours — a mild species 
of sj>eculation which appeared to meet with 
general leniency, even amongst those who 
took no part in it. 

Our first day's log from Queenstown, whose 
harbour we left about two o'clock in the after- 
noon of Thursday, announced 4S0 miles, 
and these figures, posted at noon on the 
following day , were the foundation of a very 
lively competition for the possession of the 
numbers immediately approaching or exceed- 
ing 500, which it was expected would be the 
sea-mileage of the Majestic during the next 
Original from 




twenty -foil r ho urs T 
should she be 
favoured with toler- 
ably fair weather. 
The sequel proved 
the prognostica- 
tions of those who 
pinned their faith 
to daily runs of 
about 500 miles to 
be correct, the dis- 
tances accom- 
plished during the 
next four days 
being successively: 
508 knots* on 
Saturday, 502 knots 
on Sunday, 509 
knots on Monday, 
501 knots on Tues- 
day, and the re- 
maining distance of 
336 knots to Sandy 
Hook was accom- 
plished before day- 
light on Wednesday 
morning — a fine 
passage for the time of year, though it 
must be admitted that few voyages across 
the Atlantic in the early spring have been 




From a Plittograift, 

favoured with such magnificent weather as 
we enjoyed from first to last of our six 

* Eqtia! to 585 statute miles. 

days' trip from land io land. The Majestic 
has previously made a voyage westward, in 
July, 189 1, in five days and eighteen hours, 
whilst her sister ship of the "White Star 
Line," the Teutonic^ in August of the same 
year, made the run in five days and sixteen 

Any description of the Majestic^ however 
cursory, would be incomplete without some 
details concerning the really exceptional 
accommodation provided for all the pas- 
sengers, including even those in the steerage, 
where a large number of the poorer class of 
travellers are, m every way, better treated 
than is usually the lot of the poor European 
emigrant. In common with all other parts 
of this fine ship, the steerage is lighted 
throughout by electricity, and there is plenty 
of space on the Majestic without overcrowd- 
ing or incommoding, for about a thousand 
passengers of this class. The married people 
have their own separate quarters, with sepa- 
rate entrances and dormitories, baths for the 
women and children, and a smoking-room foi* 
the men, together with a large pantry pro- 
vided with a constant supply of hot and cold 
water and other comforts. 

For daily exercise and recreation the entire 
upper deck is reserved for the exclusive use 
of the steerage passengers ; and along each 
side, under the bulwarks, runs a sheltered 
bench, where they can sit in comfort In other 




terms, they have provided for them over a 
sixth of a mile of covered and sheltered deck 
space. Single passengers, male and female, 
:are isolated in quarters at either end of the 
ship. An ample provision of electric lamps 
(by which, indeed, 
the whole ship is 
lighted), perfect 
ventilation, and an 
elaborate system of 
lavatories, cum ph:te 
the list of substan- 
tial comforts en- 
joyed by the 
humblest of the 
Majestic 's pass c n- 

The second-class 
department of the 
ship is capable of 
accom m odating 
one hundred and 
seventy passengers. 
The second cabin 
dining saloon is on 
the upper deck, and 
there is also a smok- 
ing and reading 
room on the deck. 
The sleeping 
arrangements for 
these passengers are 

in every way 
superior to the 
first-class accom- 
modation of the 
steamships which 
carried the Atlan- 
tic traffic of a 
quarter of a cen- 
tury ago. The 
second - class pas- 
sengers of the 
Majestic have an 
ample promenade 
deck devoted ex- 
clusively to their 
use, and are also 
provided with 
bath - rooms and 
other comforts, 
which in former 
years would have 
been considered 

As regards the 
first-class passen- 
gers, all are, of 
course, furnished with quarters infinitely 
better than has ever previously been known 
in the history of Atlantic navigation ; whilst 
the lucky few whose means permit them to 
indulge in the extra grandeur of special state- 


Ffotn a\ 



PROMENADE DECK ANO|p!l^^.| f |"£| |"|~| 





rooms find themselves as pleasantly and as 
sumptuously housed as they would be in the 
best hotels of either continent 

The Majestic and the Teutonic belong to 
the Naval Reserve of Great Britain, and In 
the event of war both these magnificent 
vessels would undoubtedly render inestimable 
services to the Government. The circum- 
stances under which these twin steamships 
became included in the British Navy are 
simple enough* 

Mr, Is may, founder and chairman of the 
White Star Line, having been long convinced 
of the necessity of applying Napoleon's 
theory of army supplies to our diffusive 
commerce, eventually submitted his views 
to the Government, offering to realize the 
practical demonstration of the idea with two 
ocean steamers to be constructed nearly on 
the same lines as the Teutonic and Majestic* 
Though the offer was at first declined, the 
Admiralty was induced some years later to 
reconsider it, and ultimately Mr. Ismay's 
proposition was accepted, The Teutonic 
was then constructed without delay, and the 
Majestic, her sister ship, similar in every 
respect, was built a few months later 

The value of these vessels as troopships 
will be readily understood from the following 
facts. The Teutonic or the Majestic could 
provide accommodation for one thousand 
cavalry or two thousand infantry, and could, 
if required, reach Canada in five days^ or 
Cape Town in twelve and a half days. 
Through the Suez Canal, they could land 
troops at Bom- 
bay in fourteen 
days, at Calcutta 
in seventeen and 
a half days, at 
Hong Kong in 
twenty-one and 
a. half days, and 
at Sydney in 
twenty-two days, 

The coal 
supply of either 
ship is sufficient 
for seventeen 
days' steaming 
at full speed, or 
for three months' 
cruising at half 
speed, The im- 
mense amount 
of attention 
which the Teu- 
tonic received 
from all classes 

of experts during the Naval Inspection in 
1889 sufficiently establishes her great im* 
portance. The German Emperor, well 
informed as to what deserved examination, 
devoted himself principally to the Teutonic, 
of all the powerful war vessels then assembled 
in the Solent. She was at that time com* 
manded by Captain Henry Parsell, himself 
an officer of the Royal Navy on the reserve 
list, and now in command of the Majestic, 
the flag-ship of the White Star Line, Captain 
Parsell is as good a specimen of the British 
sailor as one would wish to meet. That his 
ship is managed with an eye to the strict per- 
formance of his duty to his owners, and at 
the same time with every regard to the 
comfort and enjoyment of all who intrust 
themselves to his care, many hundreds who 
have had the good fortune to cross the 
Atlantic under his vigilant charge and agree- 
able companionship will eagerly testify* 

In fact, Captain Parsell is one of the most 
popular sea officers afloat, and whether on 
the bridge of his ship, or amongst the pas- 
sengers in the saloon, he is distinctly the 
right man in the right place. I should not, 
however, advise anyone taking passage in 
the Majestic to ask Captain Parsell super- 
fluous questions, a sample list of which was 
thoughtfully supplied to me, probably with 
the benevolent view of maintaining cordial 
relations between the worthy captain and 
myself during the voyage, I quote a 
few of these doubtful queries, with a view to 
placing such of my readers as intend to cross 


by LiOOgle 






the Atlantic on their 
guard against what 
may be technically 
described as " put- 
ting their foot in 

" Do you remem- 
ber my aunt, who 
crossed with you in 

" What time do 
you get up in the 
morning ? " 

"How much 
does your uniform 

"What kind of 
oil do you pour on 
the waves in storm 
— cod-liver, olive, 
or linseed ? w 

"Have you ever 
been to Chicago ? " 

"What line of 
business were you 
in before you be- 
came a captain ? " 

** Are you acquainted with John Smith, of 
London ? " 

FiTtm ti\, 



" Do you know a good shirtmaker in 

From a] 


IQilizeo DV V-i 

AND THE TKtNCE UP WAi^bt^li : hftl i 'hlxi|litiMC*" 





/Votit a] 



" Were you ever drowned ? w 

(£ When you go to sea, don't your friends 
at home miss you dreadfully ? " 

And a few others, which I leave to the 
imagination of inquisitive people, 

Our voyage from first to last was so 
delightful that, if I interpret the feelings of 
others by my own, every passenger on board 
was sorry when it came to an end, The 
only approach to a contretemps during the 
entire trip occurred one evening in mid- 
Atlantic, in the heat of the auction sale in 
the smoking-room to which I have previously 
alluded. The proceedings on this occasion 
were partially interrupted by a somewhat 
hilarious young gentleman, who donned a 
false nose and proceeded to treat the com- 
pany to a song, not having been invited to 
contribute to the general entertainment by 
any vocal effort whatever, 

After several amicable attempts had been 
fruitlessly made to calm the musical ardour 
of tills callow youth, he was, as a last resort, 
incontinently ejected from the room, accom- 
panied by a chorus of threats of future 
punishment, deferred only for a brief period, 
until the serious labours of the pool com- 
mittee should be completed In fact, later 

Digitized by t*t 

in the evening a sort of drumhead court- 
martial was held on deck, the speedy result 
of which was a verdict of guilty and a. 
sentence by which the members of the court 





unanimously adjudged that the offending 
vocalist should be immediately thrown over- 

I have little doubt that this edict would 
have been promptly carried into effect but 
for the interposition of a passenger, who 
chanced to he a room-mate of the culprit. 
This gentleman, presuming to dissent from 
an eminently proper verdict, remarked that, 
although he had no personal acquaintance 
with the convicted 
person, yet ? as he 
occupied a berth in 
the same room with 
himself, he felt bound 
on general principles 
to "stand by him." 

The court, on hear- 
ing this audacious 
plea, was on the point 
of ordering a double 
execution, when it 
was discovered that 
the new offender was 
a Kentucky cowboy, 
very highly respected 
in virtue of the fact 
that he was reputed 
to carry about his 
person a '42 calibre 

Under these spe- 
cial circumstances, 
the court graciously 
reconsidered its deci- 
sion, and magnani- 
mously proclaimed a 
general amnesty. 

We reached New 
York without further 
incident of import- 
ance, and having spent 
a few pleasant weeks 
in the Empire City of 
America, our journey 
was resumed towards 
the great West. 

At the foot of Desbrosses Street, on the 
Hudson River, we" went on board one of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad Company's ferry- 
boats, plying between the Jersey City station 
of that line and the terminus at either 
Desbrosses or Courtlandt Street, the latter 
about a mile lower down the river, near Bowl- 
ing Green and the Battery, These boats are 
large and commodious, with handsomely- 
furnished upper saloons and broad decks, 
from which an excellent view of the busiest 
part of the Hudson River can be enjoyed. 


3y K: 


The wide bow of the ferry-boat is quickly 
secured to the dock on the opposite side, and 
we w T alk along elevated passage-ways and 
under a wide-spreading arch, through the 
white glass of which the light gleams upon 
long lines of passenger-cars, made up into 
trains ready to start for widely different sec- 
tions of the country, Our tickets entitle us 
to places in the " Pennsylvania, Limited/ 5 
which is claimed to be the most perfect and 

luxurious railway train 
in the world. 

A few minutes 
before twelve o'clock 
we are comfortably in- 
stalled in our section 
of an admirably- 
appointed drawing- 
room and sleeping 
car, in which each 
division is represented 
by a space of about 
six feet by four, 
reserved for two 
passengers only. The 
car is much the same 
in appearance as the 
sleeping carriages of 
the American Pull- 
man type now largely 
used on the principal 
English lines. But 
here the comparison 
with English railways 
ends. This "Pennsyl- 
vania, Limited, " cer- 
tainly possesses in its 
entirety no peer in 
the Old World, nor, 
so far as I am aware, 
is it equalled by any 
other special train in 

Through an in- 
closed vestibule 
between each of the 
cars as they are cou- 
pled together, the traveller may pass with ease 
and safety from one end of the train to the other. 
These vestibules are constructed of a strong 
steel framework, which serves as an additional 
safeguard against " telescoping/' by which 
the greatest number of lives are lost in rail- 
way collisions. The car between the one 
we occupied and the dining-car, located 
further in the rear, is similar in appearance 
to our own, but in passing through it we 
observed one or two special features, 

A coloured woman in a neat blue serge 




frock, white apron, and snowy cap, 
is arranging a pillow for a lady, 
evidently an invalid, reclining upon 
a couch in a snug little separate 
drawing-room, the door of which is 
standing open at present, and reveals 
a cosy apartment, which, at the will 
of the occupant, may be entirely 
secluded from the remainder of the 
car. The coloured woman is the 
ladies'-maid of the train, and it is 
her business during the journey to 
make herself useful to the ladies and 
the children. 

All the sleeping-cars are supplied 
with two state-rooms, such as I have 
above described, and the exclusive 
use of these may be obtained, for the 
entire journey of nearly one thousand 
miles, on the supplementary payment 
of a sovereign. In addition to the 
state-rooms, each car is divided into 
twelve sections, rendered entirely 
separate by means of draperies and 
curtains when the berths are made 





3 y Google 

up at night. Separate toilet-rooms are 
also provided, and one car has a fully- 
equipped bath-room for the use of ladies 

Next to the rear sleeping-car is the 
dining-car, which is exclusively devoted 
to the purposes indicated by its name. 
The meals served in this perambulating 
restaurant, and, indeed, the restaurant and 
all its appointments (due proportions being 
observed), will compare favourably with 
similar accommodations in the best hotels. 
There is a sparkle of glassware, and 
polished silver reflecting snowy linen, a 
glint of china, frail and transparent as an 
egg-shell, a breath of fresh flowers, and an 
agreeable clicking of knives and forks. 

White-coated and white-aproned coloured 
waiters move quickly to and fro with 
deftly-balanced trays of smoking viands* 
and when the conductor of the dining-car 
has provided us with a seat^ one of these 
darky waiters places a napkin and a 
menu before us. We give our order 
from anQq^g5^|^,flf fare, and while 







the meal is being freshly prepared in the 
kitchen, which occupies about one-third 
of the car, completely separated from the 
dining saloon, we may take off the edge of 
our appetite with an abundance of the fruits 
that happen to be in season, glancing now 
and then out of the broad windows at the 
country through which we are travelling 
smoothly at the rate of about fifty miles an 
hour. The meals on this train, it may be use- 
ful to mention, are supplied at the rate of one 
dollar, or about four shillings for each person. 
At the extreme rear of the train is placed 
what is called the " observation car/' one of 
the latest and most attractive additions to 
this special service. This car is in reality a 
handsome sitting-room, with glass sides, and 
furnished with an abundance of wicker chairs 
and sofas. The rear platform is open at the 
end, and is large enough to seat fifteen persons, 
protected by the sides of the car and a strong 
steel railing. In fine weather a seat in this 
open observatory, in full view of the rapidly- 
passing landscape, is a thing to be enjoyed, 
and is particularly appreciated by ladies and 

Digitized by GGOgle 

At the other end of the same car is fixed 
the desk of a stenographer and typewriter, 
employed by the Pennsylvania Railroad 
Company. His services to passengers are 
rendered free of expense, and letters or 
telegrams may be dictated to him, which he 
transcribes and dispatches at the next 
stopping- place. 

Forward of the sleepers is a smoking-car 
and library, containing lounges, couches, 
writing-desks, book-cases filled with standard 
and current literature, and tables supplied 
with the daily newspapers and the periodicals 
of the times. In a corner of this snug 
retreat, which to the male passengers serves 
temporarily all the purposes of a club, is a 
refreshment buffet, with which one may in- 
stantly communicate by menus of an electric 
button always at hand* Beyond this is a 
barber's shop, through which is obtained 
entrance to the gentlemen's bath-room, and 
farther forward st ; !l is the passengers 5 luggage, 
carried from New York to Chicago without 
change, and delivered at the hotels imme- 
diately after the arrival of the train. 

Whilst I hnve been writing this description 



we have passed rapidly through the State of 
New Jersey. We pause but a short time in 
the great station at Broad Street, Philadel- 
phia, but such as are interested find there 
the latest stock and produce quotations, 

posted for consultation in the 
smoking-room. The train glides 
out once more into the open 
country, and still speeding along 
through Delaware, Chester, and 
Lancaster counties, and passing 
Harrisburgh, the capital of the 
State, we approach the first of the 
great Alleghany range of moun- 
tains, and, bending to the west, 
the tram thunders across the 
Susquehanna River on a bridge 
3,670 feet in length. To the ri^ht 
rise gigantic ridges, sundered by 
the waters in their passage, but 
leaving numerous rocks in the 
channel to break the river into 
rapids and fret it into foam ; while 
to the left the stream sweeps away, 
with its wooded islands, towards 
Harrisburgh, whose steeples can 
still be seen in the distance, 

A halt is made at the Altoona 
station, where are located the 
great workshops of the Pennsyl- 
vania Railroad Company, and 
then, once more on the way, the 
train begins the ascent of the 
heaviest grade on the line. The 
valley beneath sinks lower and 
lower until it becomes a vast 
gorge, the bottom of which is 
hidden by an impenetrable gloom; 
and now commences the circuit of the 
famous horse-shoe curve, one of the most 
stupendous triumphs of engineering ever 
accomplished. As the enormous bend, 
sweeping first north, then curving westward. 


Vol. vi— 2& 

byt^oegrc^ A 

la anus. vNyiiidi muni \viwtwT<iph. 




and still again curving away to the south, 
presents itself to view, it is difficult to 
describe the grandeur of the scene. 

At Pittsburgh, the time carried by the 
train is suddenly altered and retarded one 
hour, in conformity with Western time. 

After leaving Pittsburgh I am unable to 
give any further sketch of the journey from 
actual observation, as it is now late at night, 
and the compartment allotted to me in the 
sleeping-car has been transformed into a com- 
fortable berth hung with tapestry curtains. 
The electric lights, which illumine the entire 
train, have been lowered, and in a short time 
all is silent, save the smooth rumbling of the 
heavy train, as it flies rapidly over the steel 

Across the State of Ohio, pausing at 

tiful morning meal, we notice, as we glance 
out of the window on the right, a streak of 
greenish blue, which tells us that we must now 
be approaching Chicago, as we have already 
reached the lower borders of the great lake 
Michigan, upon which that city stands* But 
long before we enter the great metropolis 
of the West, there are numerous indications 
of a busy and populous neighbourhood, de- 
noting that we are already in the suburbs of 
some vast industrial and manufacturing 

Presently an official, carrying a bunch of 
leather straps in his hand, passes through the 
car to take charge of any luggage you wish to 
be delivered without any loss of time at your 
hotel. He is the agent of an omnibus line 
and local express company, which, for a 

From nj 



Alliance, Crestline, and Lima, and then 
plunging into the State of Indiana, where, 
soon after daybreak, another halt is made at 
Fort Wayne, we now traverse a wide expanse 
of prairie, and, as this sort of scenery appears 
somewhat monotonous, we turn over for 
another nap, long after the sun is well up, 
when we are at length fully aroused by the 
voice of the dining-car waiter informing the 
passengers of the fact that breakfast will 
shortly be ready. The meal is served in a 
relay car, which we find has been taken on at 
Fort Wayne, and is as completely equipped for 
its purpose as its predecessor ; in fact, these 
eating-cars are changed twice on the road 
from New York, in order that the provisions 
they carry may be fresh and of the best 

Almost before we have completed a plen- 

ay Google 

trifling fee, will deliver your trunks and your- 
self at any hotel in Chicago. You hand over 
your checks to this j>erson, gather up the 
odds and ends — small boxes, parcels, rugs, 
and other indispensable impedimenta of your 
journey, from which on no account do you 
intend to be separated— and by the time you 
have accomplished the gathering process the 
train comes to a standstill in the great depot 
at Chicago. 

It is, of course, impossible within the limits 
of a traveller's sketch-book to convey any 
adequate idea of the great American Expo- 
sition of 1893, This description I must 
perforce leave to other pens and to the many 
readers of Thk Strand Magazine who will 
visit the Fair — a trip which, as I set out by 
declaring, can be easily accomplished in an 
eight days' pleasant journey from London. 


The Queer Side of Things. 




ES, sir/' continued the door- 
keeper ; M Fat Women are 
more sentimental than any 
other women. The fatter 
they are the more they fall 
in love. Though, to tell the 
truth, the most sentimental Fat Woman I 
ever had wasn't by any means the fattest* She 
only weighed two hundred and eighty pounds 
when she came to me, and I lost her when 
she had just got up to three hundred and 
forty ; and very sorry I was to lose her, for 
she had a great future before her if she had 
only been willing to stick to business and 
bad kept up her pride in her profession. 

" For the first six months I had her I 
thought she was a jewel. She never took the 
least bit of exercise, and she dieted as carefully 
as if she had been a dyspeptic with a stomach 
in ruins, who was trying to put himself to 
rights again hy eating nothing but the most 
disagreeable kinds of food. By the way, did 
you ever notice that the only way to get even 
with a stomach that has once gone back on 
you is to starve it, or give it nothing that any 
rational stomach likes ? The minute you 
begin to treat a stomach kindly, and let it 
have the sort of meat and drink ft wants, 
that minute you are on the road to dyspepsia. 
A stomach is just like a small boy — you'll 
spoil it if you ever let it have its own way. 

u \ hadn't had this Fat Woman a week 
when I saw that she was as bad as all the 


rest of them, so far as falling in love goes. 
Our Giant was taken with the scarlet fever, 
which was a most ridiculous sort of disease for 
a man of six feet and a half high, and mighty 
sick he was. Of course, I couldn't send him 
to a hospital, where everybody could see him, 
without destroying his market value, so he 
had to be nursed in his room at the Museum. 
Nobody was willing to nurse him till the Fat 
Woman came forward and said that she would 
nurse the poor man if everybody else was afraid* 
Naturally, everybody applauded her bravery, 
as everybody always does when a person 
undertakes to do something that other people 
are afraid to do, and are glad to get rid of 
doing* I didn't altogether like the idea of 
temporarily losing the services of the Fat 
Woman as well as the Giant, but I like to let 
my people have all the pleasure they can, so 
I told the Fat Woman to go ahead, and I 
would pay her half her salary while she was 
off duty. * 

il Of course, the Fat Woman fell in love 
with the Giant before she had been twenty- 
four hours in the sick room, but I will say 
that she made a first-class nurse. There was 
no walking around the room, and knocking 
over bottles, and putting the furniture in order, 
and sweeping the floor up, as is always going 
on when you have an ordinary-sized nurse* 
The Fat Woman spent the whole day and 
night sitting in her chair, except when the 
Giant wanted his medicine, or when he tried 
to get up, being delirious, and go on the plat- 
form in his nightshirt, Whenever this fit was 
on him, the Fat Woman would just lean her 
weight on him till he quieted down* 

u Once she accidentally leaned a little too 

much on his chest, and the man was prettv 




nearly suffocated before she noticed that 
anything unusual was the matter, but gene- 
rally speaking she did her duty in a way that 
laid over any regular hospital nurse that I 
ever saw, 

41 When the Giant got well the Fat Woman, 
who considered herself engaged to him, though 
he swore that he had never said a word of the 
kind, expected him to marry her, and when 
she found out that he hadn't the least idea 
of any such foolishness she was destroyed, 
as you might say. For about a week she 
lost her appetite and didn't eat enough to 
keep her alive, not to speak of making pro- 
gress in her profession, and I had to speak 
pretty sharply to her about the dishonesty of 
growing thin when she had a contract with 
me that obliged her to increase her weight 
by all legitimate means. However, at the 
end of the week she braced up again and 
soon got over her passion, 

" That's the way with Fat Women. They 
get over their disappointments, and are 
looking out for fresh ones quicker than any 
other woman outside of a Dime Museum- 
I'd like to find some intelligent man, say a 
parson or a doctor, who could tell me the 
reason of this, I can't see myself why there 
should be any difference between 
a fat woman and a thin woman in 
the matter of their affections ; but 
there is a big difference. If you 
want just to carry on with a girl, 
take a middling fat one, and 
she'll get over it without giving 
you any trouble. But if you 
mean business, and want to marry 
a girl who'll stick to you, don't 
you take any girl weighing more 
than a hundred and twenty 

11 In course of time the Fat 
Woman forgot all about her affair 
with the Giant, and the two were 
excellent friends, both being good- 
tempered and good - hearted in 
their way. But pretty soon the 
Fat Woman fell m love again, 
and this time it was with an out- 
sider. He was a sort of ticket 
speculator! and about as worthless 
a fellow as there was in all 
Cincinnati, which was where my 
show was located at the time, and 
anybody except a Fat Woman 
would have known that if he 
made love to a woman, it was 
because he thought there was 
money in it He supposed 

Digitized by do< 

that the Fat Woman was well-to-do in the 
world, as most of them are, seeing as 
they draw good salaries and have no 
expenses to speak of Besides, he was 
sharp enough to see that she was putting on 
flesh day by day, and would naturally com- 
mand more and more salary according as her 
weight increased. He used to come in to 
my place pretty nearly every day and have a 
little talk with the Fat Woman, and say how- 
de-do to the other * freaks, 1 and maybe try 
to borrow fifty cents of me, for I had known 
him a good many years — which naturally 
made him feel that he had a right to borrow 
money of me* 

" One day I noticed that the Fat Woman 
looked a good deal smaller round the waist 
than usual, and I charged her with lacing. 
At first she denied it, but I told her it was 
no use, and that she couldn't deceive me, 
and then she admitted that she was wearing 
a corset. * What's got into you ? ' I asked 
hen * Haven't you no sense, and no pride in 
your profession ? Here you are actually 
trying to make yourself look smaller than you 
are, when you know perfectly well that you 
ought to be trying to do just the opposite, I 
tell you what it is, Melinda, you're got your 
eye on some young man, 
and want to make your- 
self look pretty. 1 

"'And what if I 
do ? ' said she. * Do 






you think that a Fat Woman hasn't got any 
feelings ? Vxn a woman, if I do weigh three 
hundred pounds, and I've got a woman's 
feelings, though none of you men ever sreni 
to think so/ I told her that there wasn't 
any question about her feelings, and that 1 
had no concern with anything but her weight, 
and that if she began to lose flesh she 
couldn't expect me to stick to the contract. 
'Just put all this foolishness out of your 
mind/ I said, 'and try to work yourself up to 
four hundred pounds. That's an ambition 
worthy of a sensible woman, while thishyer 
falling in love is only fit for women who 
haven't got brains or flesh to earn their own 
Hving. 1 

"But my advice was wasted, as advice 
always is, and in a few days the Fat Woman 
came to me and asked to be let off her 
contract, so that she could be married and go 
to keeping house for her husband. It made 
me mad to see her so willing to throw away 
her future, and so careless about my own 
interests, considering that I had treated her 
kindly and liberally, and I told her that I 
should hold her to her contract, which had 
two years more to run, and would sue her 
for damages if she left me s or if she neglected 
to keep herself up to her usual weight, This 
made her pretty angry, and she said that she 
should do as she pleased, and that I was a 
horrid brute. So I saw that I was going to 
have trouble with her, 

" That night the Fat Woman had a long 
talk with her admirer after the performance 
was over, and for the next day or two was in 
such good spirits that I knew she must mean 
mischief. The fact was that the fellow had 
induced lur to agree to elope with him, and 
she felt so sure that her professional career 
was coming to a happy end that she openly 
took to drinking vinegar and eating meat, and 
drew in her waist till she looked as if she was 
on the edge of apoplexy, 

" The Fat Wo man's room was just over 
mine, and naturally she couldn't move round 
much without waking me, though I am a 
pretty middling sound sleeper. Soon after 
she had taken to vinegar, I was waked up 
one night by hearing her walking about her 
room in her boots, and as my watch said it 
was two o'clock, I knew something was up, 
By-and-by she came downstairs as softly as 
she could, though the stairs did groan as 
stairs will when you put three hundred 
pounds of woman on them in the jmiddle of 
the night, I got up and looked out of the 
window, and there was a carriage standing by 
the stage door, I saw the Fat Wop 

little game at once. She was going to run 
away with the ticket speculator* 

tl My first thought was to dress and run 
out and stop her, but presently I remembered 

w me rat Woman s 

by GOOgle 


how narrow the stage door was, and I made 
up my mind to wait and see the fun : my 
window being where it commanded a good 
view of the scene of action. Just as I 
anticipated, the Fat Woman halted when she 
came to the stage door, and presently I 
heard her call in a low voice : * Tom, come 
and help me, I'm stuck in the door ! ' Turn 
climbed down out of the carriage, and getting 
a good hold of one of the Fat Woman's arms, 
braced himself against the jamb of the door 
and pulled his level best. But he couldn't 
start her, and though stye stood it like a 
heroine, she had to tell him, after he had 
pulled a while, that she couldn't stand it any 

"Then Tom tried to push her back into 
the corridor, so that she could take a fresh 
start and maybe get herself through the door 
edgewise, but he couldn't budge her. So the 
two whispered together awhile, and then Tom 
called the driver of the carriage to come and 
help him. The driver was the most intelligent 
of the lot, and he said that the only way to get 





the lady loose was fur Tuin io climb over her 
and then push from the inside while the 
driver pulled from the outside. It didn't seem 
to be an easy job for Tom to climb over her, 
but he managed to do it, though she screamed 
a little when his boots sunk into her shoulders. 
Then I heard him say, 'Now, driver, while 
you pull I'll try running the length of the 
corridor and bumping her. The shock may 
loosen her if you pull just as I bump,' I 
don't know how the Fat Woman liked it, but 
she held her tongue, and after a while some- 
thing gave way, and she suddenly shot out 
into the road, falling on the driver, and making 
him think his last end had come, When he 
got himself free!, and he and Tom together 
had set the Fat Woman on her legs again, I 
heard him say : i I'll have to be after charging 
you, sor, for a suit of clothes, being as my 
own is spoilt entirely, and my left arm is 
sprained.' But Tom told him to hurry up 
and help boost the Fat Woman into the car- 
riage, and he'd see that everything was made 
right when the time came to pay, 

" You may ask why 1 didn't interfere about 
this time and keep the woman from running 
away. Because I knew just what her weight 
was, and how much the bottom of an ordi- 
nary carriage will bear, and 1 wanted to see 
how the thing would end. 

"Well, it ended just as I knew it would. 
It was the middle of summer, and daylight 
began about three o'clock, so Tom was 
in a hurry to get away before anybody 

Digitized by Lrt 

would see him and 
recognise him or 
his companion. 
He and the driver 
gave the Fat Wo- 
man a most ever- 
lasting boost and 
shot her into the 
carriage, and Tom 
was going to get in 
after her when I 
heard something 
crack, and the Fat 
Woman gave a dis- 
mal yell. She had 
gone clean through 
the bottom of the 
carriage, and was 
standing with her 
feet on the road, 
with the broken 
pieces of the floor- 
ing holding her so 
tight that she 
couldn't stir. She 
gave up all pre- 
tence of keeping 
quiet, and called out at the top of her 
voice, for the driver to hold the horses 
and keep the carriage from moving ; and 
begged Tom, if he had any love for 
to help her out of the carriage, 
let her get into her own room once 



l£ The fact is, the woman was in a very bad 
fix* The splinters must have hurt her like 
so many knives, and the more Tom tried to 
pull away the broken boards, the more they 
got their work on. Then all of a sudden the 
horses took it into their heads to start, and 
the woman yelled that they were killing 
her, and the driver must cut them loose 

" By the time the horses were unhitched 
Tom had given up the attempt to get the 
woman loose as a bad job, and was standing 
in a helpless sort of way by the carriage 
door, telling her for Heaven's sake to hold 
her tongue before she waked up the whole 

' l I judged it was about time for me to take 
a hand in the proceedings, so I railed out of 
the window, *Melinda! If you've had 
enough of thi shyer foolishness, just say the 
word, and I'll come down with an axe and 
help you out of your fix. 1 She said all she 
wanted was to be let loose, and she would 
never try to leave me again, not for any man, 
let alone a cruel, heartless wretch that would 





stand by and see a woman suffer, and never 
lift a finger to help her. So I dressed slow 
and easy, so as to let the splinters sink into 
her mind as you might say, and keep her 
from forgetting all she owed me, and then I 
got my axe and came down and broke her 
out without much trouble. Tom had nothing 
to say for himself. I will give him the 
credit of admitting that he stood around 
while I was working with the axe, 
till he saw that the woman was loose, and 
then he bolted, thinking, perhaps, that I 
might be disposed to use the axe on him, 
which would have been a waste of labour 
that I shouldn't have thought of 
undertaking. The driver tackled 
up his horses in no time and 
started after Tom as hard as he 
could drive, knowing that his 
chance of collecting payment 
would be middling small if he 
let Tom fairly out of his sight. 

11 The Fat Woman was a 
good deal tore up with the 
splinters, and more or less 
exhausted by the mental strain 
she had gone through while the 
two men were trying to haul 
her through the stage door, She 
hadn't much strength left for 
conversation, and she went very 
quietly with me round to the 
front of the house and through 
the big door up to her room. 
When she was going into her 
room she turned and said : — 

"'Colonel. I'll never do it 
again, and I'll do my best to 
fatten up after this. 5 

"'That's all right,' said L 
* You just go to bed again 

ed by VjOOgle 

and forget all about it. We're all liable to 
make mistakes, and it wasn't your fault 
thai you didn't know how much a floor of 
a carriage would bear. I'll send you up 
the arnica, and just you use it and forget 
all ahout Tom, who is no good anyway, and 
wholl never come round you again, you can 
bet your bottom dollar.' 

" After that you never saw a more faithful 
and conscientious artist than that Fat Woman, 
She dieted herself more carefully than ever, 
and before the year was out she had got up 
to three hundred and forty pounds," 

W, L. Alden, 




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(""rw^nL'' Original from 



by Google 

Original from 

By Charles J. Mansford, B.A« 


HAT a handsome portrait, 
Fred ! Who was your 
model ? " 

^ My wife," responded 
Fred Wynton, as he followed 
his friend's gaze of admira- 
tion to a portrait standing on an easel in his 

'* Your wife ! What, are you married, 
then ? " queried Henry Aubert, as he looked 
in a surprised manner at his friend, " You 
made no mention of the subject to me when 
we parted at Milan a year ago. I always 
thought you were too careless a fellow to 
settle down as a prosy Benedict, Fred." 

"So I thought," was the response, "but 
that was before my adventures in Corsica. 
I had quite a romantic as well as exciting 
time of it after leaving you — in fact, I have 
only been in England a month." 

"May I hear the circumstances which 
brought about such a change in you?" 
asked Henry Aubert, with a smile, as he 
leant back in a low chair, and took a 
proffered cigar. 

" By all means, old fellow, only mind, no 
chaff afterwards/* said Fred VVynton, and 
sitting down by the long French window, he 
faced his friend, and began the narrative of 
his adventures, 

11 You remember I told you when we 
parted that morning at Milan that I intended 
to indulge in a couple of months' shooting in 
Corsica ? Well, on my arrival at the home of 
big game and banditti, I proceeded to put 
my wishes into practice, I had obtained, 

as I thought, a trustworthy guide in the 
person of Luigo Cospi, who had offered me 
his assistance shortly after my arrival He 
knew the island thoroughly, and also how to 
avoid the districts infested by mountain 
robbers : so on the recommendation of my 
host, who was evidently in league with him, 
as I found out afterwards, I engaged his 

41 Matters went well enough for a couple of 
weeks. My guide was a splendid shot, a 
careful attendant, and apparently faithful 
We had traversed a considerable distance 
one day when, as I felt exceedingly weary, 
I lay down to rest in a shady nook, leaving 
Cospi on guard with his loaded carbine. 
The steady tramp of my attendant as he 
passed to and fro gradually produced a 
drowsiness ; I closed my eyes, and was soon 
fast asleep. 

" How long my slumber lasted I am unable 
to say, but the sun had gone down w f hen I 
awoke, and in the twilight my eyes rested 
on several forms standing close by in 
animated conversation. They were gathered 
round my guide, who was gesticulating and 
talking excitedly. Hearing my name pro- 
nounced by him, I endeavoured to raise my 
right hand to rub my eyes, when, to my 
great surprise, I found myself unable to do 
so. Looking down, I observed that a coil 
of rope, evidently part of a lariat, which 
Cospi had used occasionally during the past 
two weeks, was twined several times round 
my waist and secured my arms firmly to my 
sides, I struggled to my feet, and was in- 
stantly observed by the miscreants, one of 


2 14 


whom presented his carbine at my head, 
threatening sudden death if I ventured to 
resist, which, in my bound condition, I was 
not likely to have much opportunity to do, 

" * Have you betrayed me, Cospi ? ' I 
ejaculated, looking indignantly at my quon- 
dam guide. 

" For reply he shrugged his shoulders, and 
then said, in an apologetic tone, ' 1 serve my 
chief, Espaldo ; all are his enemies save we 
who serve him* J 

" Previous to our departure^ my right arm 
was unbound while I partook of some coarse 
bread and fruit, washed down with a little 
sour wine. In spite of the peril in which I 
felt myself placed, I could not help feeling a 
keen interest in the scene in which I unfor- 
tunately played so prominent a part The 
night was cool, and the brigands had impro- 
vised a fire of the dead wood which lay so 
plentifully to hand, and the ruddy gleams of 
the burning wood lit up the foliage of the 


41 i What do you intend to do with me ? ' I 

u ' We march to-night to the chiefs head- 
quarters whose prisoner you are,' responded 
Cospi. ' You will be treated with due 
respect on the route, provided that you accept 
the inevitable, and make no effort to escape/ 

" ' The distance ? ' I asked, laconically, 

"Fifteen English miles. We hope to arrive 
about four o'clock, that is one hour after 
sunrise,' replied Cospi. 


trees around, save where the shadows of my 
guards fell upon them. Above, the blue 
heaven was spangled with stars; while round 
the fire the brigands, including Cospi, sat in 
their picturesque garb, sharing the rough re- 
past of which I was a partaker. At intervals, 
through the foliage, I caught glimpses of the 
two brigands who kept watch, as they marched 
backwards and forwards, with their carbines 
in readiness should any unforeseen chance 
necessitate their urn 



" ' We must commence our journey, your 
excellency,' said Cospi, shortly after the 
meal was concluded* 

" ' I am ready,' I responded, and rose to my 
feet, submitting to the rebinding of my right 
arm to my side, as I felt resistance was useless. 

** Cospi headed the small column, then 
came two of the banditti, next I marched, 
followed by two more of my guard, whose 
rear was brought up by a single brigand. It 
was a long journey through the rough 
country, for my captors carefully avoided 
the beaten tracks, and long before the 
journey was over I felt weary, but the steady 
march of my guards never wavered. Morn- 
ing with its glorious sunrise had dawned for 
fully an hour, when I became aware that we 
were approaching the bandit chiefs abode* 

" ' Your excellency must submit to be 
blindfolded,' said Cospi, who now left the 
head of the column, and, suiting the action 
to the word, placed a brightly coloured silk 
scurf across my eyes, which left me in total 

Steered by my 
former servant and 
now my captor* I 
stumbled on for some 
time, then became 
aware of being in a 
close atmosphere. 
The bandage was 
removed from my 
eyes* I was in the 
presence of the chief, 

After a few minutes, 
during which my eyes 
were becoming used 
to the light, I began 
to comprehend the 
various objects 
around. I was evi- 
dently in a natural 

cave, from the roof of which hung long stalac- 
tites- At the far end of the cave was a ruddy 
gleam of light, which I concluded came from 
the sky, as the air seemed to blow fresher 
towards that part, and to relieve me some- 
what from the closeness which I had 
observed on entering the cave. The sea 
was evidently near at hand, for I could dis- 
tinctly hear the waves as they broke against 
the shore, which re -echoed with their beating 
and dashing against it 

"The cave itself was extremely long, and 
apparently stored with the proceeds of the 
spoils of both land and sea. Carpets, rugs, 

and tapestry of all descriptions lay profusely 
around, while the walls were adorned with 
rude carvings done in idle hours, and inter- 
spersed with weapons of defence, consisting 
of carbines, short, wide-bladed swords, curved 
scimitars, and some curious-looking two- 
handed weapons. Upon a pile of carpet and 
skins lay the chief, a dark, handsome man, 
fully fifty years of age. Ranged round him 
were carbineers, with here and there a 
woman's face adorned with long ear-rings and 
gayn::oloured shawls* On left and right of 
the chiefs dais the attendants ranged, and 
along the cave. Through the pathway thus 
made, I w r as led into E spa! do's presence, 

11 Cospi, carbine in hand, stood at my right 
Behind were two of my guard* The rest had 
joined the number who filled the sides of the 

"The confused murmur of voices died 
away as Espaldo, raising himself, directed a 
keen glance at me, and inquired, 'Your 
name, captive ? ' 


" ' Frederic Scott Wynton,' I responded, 
meeting his glance with all the calmness and 
fortitude I could command. 

" * You are an Englishman, if I may judge 
from your accent? 5 continued the chief. 

" i I am proud to own that is the fact,' 
I replied, 

" l Your profession ? J 

" 'Artist- that is to say, I paint a little, 
and also carve occasionally in stone. i 

** ' Do you understand why you have been 
brought here ? * 

" * I presume that some ransom may be 
obtained for my rcksi&E:,' I answered 




" c Precisely. What ransom are you pre- 
pared to offer ? ' questioned Espaldo. 

" ' I have no suggestion to make/ I 
responded. ' My visit to this island was 
purely of a friendly description. You rob me 
of liberty, the dearest right of my countrymen, 
but I do not recognise your authority to do so.' 

" Espaldo's face flushed crimson, and he 
made a hasty motion to Cospi, who led me to- 
wards an opening on the left, my guard 
following. I stopped at the entry, my heart 
beating violently as I wondered what the 
effect of my rash speech would be. Cospi, 
seeing me hesitate to enter the side chamber 
— which had been evidently excavated, judg- 
ing from the regularity of its sides and roof 
— exclaimed : — 

" i Your excellency need fear nothing at 
present ; our chief is about to consult as to 
the conditions to be offered you for your 

Entering this stone apartment, I discovered 
it to be one apparently used for the devotion 
of this lawless band. Crime and superstition 
are handmaids in the Corsican's life. At the 
far end was apparently an altar, the centre- 
piece of which was a large representation of 
the Crucifixion carved in oak, in front of 
which were several wooden benches for the 
use of the worshippers. The walls were 
bare, save here and there where a rough 
representation of various Scriptural events 
was cut into the solid stone. The brigands' 
chapel, as I may call it, was lit by the sole 
device of hewing a square piece out of the 
roof of it, into which had been fitted a large 
pane of crimson glass, the effect of which 
upon the interior was to produce a strange 
and weird appearance. 

" I had been occupied in examining the 
different carvings — which showed occasion- 
ally considerable artistic skill — for about half 
an hour, when Cospi entered the apartment, 
from which he had been called a few minutes 
previously, and intimated that my presence 
was required by Espaldo. I re-entered the 
main part of the cave and passed into the 
bandit chief's presence. 

" ' The conditions of your release have 
been settled in my council, and from them 
no deviation will be made,' said Espaldo. 

" * I await their mention,' I responded. 

"'They are two in number— the first is 
that you obtain a ransom of one thousand 
English pounds within four weeks of this 

" ' And the second ? ' I asked, wondering 
what further stipulation could be made. 

" ' That you carve for us the representation 

of the Virgin in stone during the time you 
remain our prisoner.' 

" ' And what if I refuse one or both con- 
ditions ? The sum you name is large, and 
an artist cannot work by force,' I replied, 

" ' Your refusal will be the signal for your 
death ; your acceptance will bring you release 
when the conditions are fulfilled,' answered 

" 'And that death will be ' I began. 

" 4 You will be shot at daybreak to-morrow ; 
or, failing the arrival of the ransom if you 
accept, to-morrow four weeks.' 

" ' I cannot carve without a model,' I re- 
sponded, hoping that this objection would 
be of service to me. 

" ' That has been provided for,' responded 
the chief, and he gave an order to one of his 
attendants, who retired. A few minutes 
afterwards the attendant returned, accom- 
panied by a lady thickly muffled. By the 
chiefs command the gearing was removed 
from her head and shoulders, and the model 
for the brigand's Madonna stood unveiled 
before me. Why need I describe the feel- 
ings of admiration and excitement which 
possessed me on seeing her lovely form 
attired in handsome and picturesque costume, 
with raven locks falling in profusion over 
her shoulders ? The portrait you are looking 
at is but a poor representation of her whom 
I first beheld at that moment 

" ' I accept the conditions,' was my re- 
sponse, and in a short time I was conducted 
to another part of the cave, my bonds 
removed, and a couch of skins prepared for 
the rest which I so much needed. Cospi, 
his carbine in hand, guarded me. Later on, 
when the chief understood the sacredness 
with which I held my sworn promise to fulfil 
the imposed conditions, even this guard was 
withdrawn, and I enjoyed comparative free- 
dom. I was not, however, allowed to wander 
far from the cave ; indeed, the carbineers 
posted regularly near the cave's entry cut off 
any hope of escape had I attempted it. 


Having accepted the proposed conditions 
for my ransom, I gave a written order on my 
banker for the stipulated sum to Espaldo, 
who was easily able, by means of his emis- 
saries, to obtain its monetary value in the 
time stipulated. 

Meantime I began to make a rough model 
in clay of the Madonna from the daughter 
of Espaldo, as the lady assigned for the 
purpose proved to tie. 1 had determined to 




represent the Madonna standing in grief 
below the representation of the Crucifixion, 
which, as I have already mentioned, formed 
the central portion of the altar in the 
brigands' chapel. The stone supplied for 
the finished model was much like Carrara 
marble, and my artistic instinct being 
aroused, I threw all my efforts into the task 

( * Algarita, the model, had, I soon learnt, 
been taught by the brigands 1 father con- 

strokes with the chisel to the Madonna, and 
which I had purposely lingered over, Cospi 
entered the chapel where I was at worlc ' I 
have a message for your excellency/ said he, 
'from the chief, Espaldo.' 

" Concluding that it was the news of the 
payment of my ransom, I said, carelessly, 
1 You may speak out before Algarita ; there 
is nothing to conceal from her.' 

u l Espaldo bids your excellency learn that 
the stipulated sum has been refused payment, 

Iff ■■|1) 

f /// 

/jr. it- 


fessor the rudiments of English, and in 
spite of the conditions under which I 
worked, I soon found that the happiest hours 
of my bondage were those passed in copy- 
ing her features. Cospi had endeavoured 
to win her affections long before my deten- 
tion in Corsica, and the failure of his hopes, 
I understood, still smote him keenly. He 
had been dispatched to a certain town in 
the island to await my ransom, and upon its 
arrival was to bring it on to the brigands' 

tl The days and weeks sped away ; I was 
so happy in the task and company which my 
labour secured that I scarcely noticed the 
fact that I was drawing near to release or 

" How Cospi got the information of my 
interest in Algarita I know not, but on the 
evening of the twenty-seventh day of my 
capture, as I was just putting a few finishing 

and that you be ready for death by sunrise 
to-morrow,' said Cospi, with an ill-concealed 

" *I shall be ready/ I replied, in a dazed 
sort of way, the unexpected refusal to meet 
my request for ransom quite unnerving me, 
Algarita fainted, and at the call of Cospi she 
was carried aw r ay by two swarthy females, and 
I was left alone with Cospi, who bade me 
good-night shortly afterwards, 

"My last night on earth I determined to 
spend in the little chapeL All my life 
seemed to flit before me during the brief in- 
terval that elapsed till sunrise dawned. I 
longed for one word more with Algarita, as I 
recognised in that hour how much I had 
learned to love her, 

" Cold and grey dawned the morning. I 
had placed myself in readiness at the 
entrance to . the cave, determined that if 
Cospi was avenging his unrequited love for 




Algarita on my head by concealing the fact 
of my ransom having been paid — which I 
found afterwards was true — his revenge 
should never wring one request for mercy 
or respite from me. 

"The sunlight streaked the east with 
golden splinters of light; up rose the sun, 

the still morning air, and the words were 
drowned in a volley from the guns. A dull 
thud, a sensation of pain, a blank nothing- 
ness : I was shot ! 

" Out on the blue waters of the Mediter- 
ranean sailed a little craft. Propped up 

1 * r 5H 

5L_ - = - '" . X 

■ z~~JS- 


rt M 

and reddened sky and hill-top in glory. 
Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. 
Looking round, I saw a carbineer, who 
addressed me by saying, * The hour has 
come ; has the stranger any last request ? ' 

" Could I trust this man with a message to 
Algarita ? I wondered. Taking a leaf from 
my pocket-book, I scrawled upon it : 4 Good- 
bye, with my dying breath I bless you. — E' 
and gave it to the carbineer. * Deliver this,' 
I responded, ' and grant me to die with my 
eyes unbandaged.' 

" ' A brave request ; it is granted, and 
Algarita shall have this scrap of paper,' said 
the carbineer; ' and now follow me.' 

"There was an open space outside the 
cave, between it and the sea, and to this 
spot my guide conducted me. Here I found 
several carbineers drawn up in line, Cospi, 
with a look of exultation, among them. 

" I knelt down, then waved my right hand 
in token of readiness for death. 

" ' Ready ! Present ! Fire ! ' rang out on 

by Google 

with pillows I lay, my head supported by 
Algarita. When consciousness had returned 
to me, I begged to hear the sequel of my 
fate. It was told in a few words. Cospi's 
gun alone was loaded with a bullet, the 
rest had been tampered with, and a harm- 
less cartridge substituted. Although not 
ordered to take part in my death, Cospi 
had asked to join the carbineers at the 
last moment, and the chief had granted him 
permission. The others, on his subsequent 
departure, had carried me into the boat 
Algarita would not leave me to the care of 
the two carbineers who had volunteered to 
try to land me at the nearest European sea- 
port. My wounded shoulder soon was 
restored. We reached England after a 
journey first to Lyons, thence to Dieppe, and 
London, where we were married." 

" And what shall you call the portrait when 
you exhibit it ? " asked Henry Aubert. 

" ' A Brigand's Daughter in Belgravia/ " he 

Original from 

White Lodge. 

By Mary Spencer-Warren. 


From a J'fcoio. fry Giimi and Stuart, Rirhnwwl. 

\Tate* bit tjHtitil t*rmiMion far The S-raAtfD Maua/ ,) 

GREAT day of public re- 
joking has come and gone ; 
and more recent events have 
somewhat relegated to the 
background the varied anec- 
dotes — true or imaginary— of 
the Royal bride and her home, her presents 
and her wedding. 

Many may imagine that there is little left 
to say upon the subject ; but when I remind 
you how much of what has been printed has 
been vaguely "stated on the best authority," 
or told by "someone who knew them well," 
and when I couple with this the statement 

that I had the special permission of FLR.H. 
the Duchess of Teck to describe and photo- 
graph the interior of White Lodge, I am 
not without hope of securing your interested 

White Lodge has many associations of 
interest even of our time, and, in going over 
it, one finds continually cropping up the fact 
of this or that room having been a favourite 
room of Her Majesty the Queen or of the 
Prince and Princess of Wales : and a more 
truly charming sylvan retreat, and place of 
absolute quiet rest, can scarcely be found. It 
is situated almost in the centre of one of the 




most beautiful parks within reach of the 
Metropolis \ a park magnificently wooded, 
every tree inhabited with feathery songsters ; 
deer and rabbit careering and frisking 
hither and thither, everything pertaining to 
picturesque Nature, making the whole grand, 
yet peaceful beyond expression* 

Here is the " home " of her who has but 
lately come from it to take an important 
place in the world, in the affections of the 
people, and in the making of the history of 
the British constitution. 

A simple, unpretentious entrance-gate leads 
me into the grounds fronting the house ; 
grounds not widely extensive, but yet of some 
considerable dimensions, replete with trees of 
all sorts ; oak, chestnut, cedars and conifers ; 
rich in shrubs and flowers, with the green 
grass plots winding in and out of prettily- 
laid-out beds. Almost directly, one is in front 
of the house, quaint and old-world in appear- 
ance, entered by an old-fashioned portico 
and double doors, the flower-filled win- 
dows stretching away on either side. Indeed, 
as you step inside the Entrance-hall you may 
well imagine yourself in a conservatory, so 

rich is it in palms, ferns, and banks of flowers, 
Deliciously cool, though! with its marble 
floor and many windows : just the place for a 
comfortable rest in one of the many capacious 
seats, some of them of an antiquity that carries 
one back to silken and velvet attire and 
powdered wig. What a collection of curios, 
too ! Rococo cabinets, Oriental vases, 
Egyptian pottery, stags 1 heads, tables of all 
ages, shapes, and designs, stone images, a 
stuffed falcon on the wrist of a gauntletted 
hand, a veritable grandfather's clock, some 
fine old paintings, some uniquely framed 
mirrors, and a rare collection of valuable 
china; in short, an altogether fine show of 
much interest 

I was somewhat puzzled by an unusually 
large number of walking-sticks here confront- 
ing me ; quite a wonderful collection of every 
shape and make* These, I found, were 
mainly the property of His Highness the 
Duke of Teck, and had been presented to 
him on different occasions by Royal and 
distinguished personages. 

Before I leave this Hall, I have come to 
the conclusion that I am in a house whose 

i a Phokt* by) 






presiding genius is an artist of the highest 
order ; none other could produce the won- 
derful effect that meets you at every turn. 
Not a corner is lost, not an inch of space but 
what is turned to good account ; abundance 
without ostentation, riches without display. 
No thrusting forward of treasures in an atti- 
tude of aggression, that seems to say, " See 
how much I have cost." It is just everything 
in the right place for it, with a result 
beyond conception. How I wish I could 
adequately describe it ■ and how much more 
I wish I could show it to some of the stately 
dowagers who make their homes places of 
dreary splendour, odious to the eye, and 
destructive to the comfort ! 

But I am keeping you in the Entrance-hall, 
and you want to see more ; so we pass on to 
the next corridor. By the way, corridors 

presents that are continually arriving from 
all quarters. The close proximity, and 
the absence of hurry and crush, make the 
inspection delightful, and I feel loth to 
leave them ; but as you will be familiar with 
the list and description as given in our 
"dailies," and will perhaps have seen them 
at the "Institute" prior to the publication of 
this number, I will notsay anything about them 
beyond a general remark as to the extreme 
beauty, combined with utility, of the whole. 
You have here before you a photograph of 
the corridor containing them, an apartment 
that had been entirely cleared for their 
reception, so that, with one exception, every 
article shown therein is a veritable wedding 
present, the exception being an easel, con- 
taining a very large and remarkably life-like 
photograph of the Princess May, taken 

From- <t Photo. by\ 


IQmmS StwtrL 

abound here, the whole place reminding 
one of an Indian residence* It has a 
fairly substantial centre building, with long 
semicircular wings projecting from either side. 
This special corridor we have just entered 
is most interesting just now, for here 
are displayed the numerous and costly 

Digitized by XjGOg 

recently by Gunn and Stuart, the artists 
responsible for the accompanying views, 
taken by special permission. This, I am 
told, is a favourite likeness ; the prominent 
position accorded it testifying to the fact. 

From here we stejj into a little ante-room, 
lighted b]p,,a n w4ndQ\v from which you look 


*3 2 


out into the front grounds. A pleasant little 
room this, a useful one, too, by the look of 
it ; books and music abound, chief of which 
I note Sullivan's Operas, Over the mantel 
is an old-fashioned oval mirror, and on it 
some quaint china animals of Liliputian 
size. Some choice old prints appear on 
the walls, amongst them being William Duke 
of Gloucester, Elizabeth Queen of Bohemia, 
the "First Council of Her Majesty/' and 
the celebrated " rainbow " picture of Queen 
Elizabeth, in the possession of the Marquis 
of Salisbury. In this room I am forcibly 
reminded of the incessant zeal in all good 
works, and proverbial kind heart and real 
good nature of the popular Duchess and her 
equally popular daughter. It is nnt neces- 
sary for me to dilate here upon the various 
charitable objects taken in hand by these two 
ladies, but the presence of a huge pile of 
annual Reports of the Needlework Guild 
will justify the mention of this— one of the 
most useful works organized by them* 

Several little models near testify to the 
affect ion in which H.R.H, the Duchess is 

held by some of the poor whom she has 
benefited : one is a model of Brill's Swim- 
ming Baths at Brighton ; another a model of 
the Seaside Home for Orphans — just little 
trifles in cardboard and seaweed^ but birthday 
presents, accepted in the spirit in which they 
are offered, and preserved and prized as 
though the costly gifts of the nobly born. A 
daughter of such a mother, with that mother's 
ever watchful and loving care, cannot but give 
rare promise for the future, when her position 
will be the greatest any woman can occupy. 

A cabinet of shells and seaweed tells of 
pleasant sojourns of the youthful members of 
the family ; and a number of albums contain 
likenesses of family and friends without 

Three doors open from this room, one by 
which I have entered from the corridor, one 
opposite leading to the upper regions, and 
one on my left, by which I enter one of the 
prettiest rooms I have ever seen — and 
certainly, just now, the most interesting room 
in the house, namely, the Princess May J s 

Frtjfrt a PH**ta by) 





2 33 

Ft dm. a Photo, by] caejimet in fkemiess may's xoom, 

iTaktn by sixtiat permittkm for Tut Stjuku Wauj^iw* ) 

Charming is a weak word applied to such 
perfection of art arrangement as you here 
behold. White is predominant : the ceiling 
and walls are painted white, relieved with 
terra-cotta> with shelf and projection of 
cream and gold beading about one-third of 
distance from floor ; the carpet has a white, 
velvety centre, with Oriental bordering, and 
the furniture is entirely of white wood : 
baskets and vases of flowers, palms and 
ferns, give an exceedingly picturesque effect 
to the whole, On the walls above projec- 
tion you will find a portrait of Her Majesty 
and the Prince Consort, and a copy of the 
famous picture u Trust." Over the mantel 
is a handsome white-framed mirror, with 
beautifully painted Virginia creeper, in autumn 
tints, running artistically over the glass, the 
mantel under it being literally crowded with 
photos and curiosities of all descriptions ; 
the shelf around the room, together with 

the lower walls, being decorated in like 

Near the French windows stands a pretty 
writing table, and here the Princess has been 



in the habit of sitting to 
conduct her correspondence 
with her numerous relations 
and friends. This, as well 
as every available article or 
space in the room, is 
crowded with photos, every 
one bearing name of original 
across the front in the 
owner's handwriting. The 
Royal Family, of course, arc 
largely represented. On the 
table there are also a 
number of useful and pretty 
articles in silver and tortoise- 
shell — doubtless many of 
them are souvenirs — and 
the entire orderly arrange- 
ment of the whole testifies 
strongly to inculcation of 
methodical tidiness from 
early youth upwards. On 
the other side of the room 
is a glass -fronted white 
cabinet, Of this I take a 
som e who ^lengthened surv ey , 
and well am I repaid for so 
doing. Every inch of the 
inside and outside shelves 
is covered with the most 
charming odds and ends in 
the shape of jewellery, al- 
bums, birthday books, silver 
and gold-topped bottles, 
fans, silver-framed hand mirrors, card cases, 
silver photo frames, and choice vases— birth- 
day presents most of them, and placed and 
kept under the special care of the Princess 

A neat and pretty white book-case contains 
a number of works by writers of note, such 
as Racine, CarlyIe T George Eliot, Molifere, 
McCarthy, the Globe Encyclopaedia, while 
poets are represented by Longfellow, Scott, 
Coleridge, Tennyson, and Herbert. Very 
evidently, the mind of the young Princess is 
well stored with useful and varied informa- 
tion ; nor am I surprised to find evidences of 
sincere Christian feeling in the presence of 
such books as " Captain Hedley Vicars," 
"English Hearts and English Hands, J; and 
" A Hero of the Battle of Life " ; each of 
these and other similar works bearing signs 
of frequent use, 

A comfortable couch, with an Oriental 
covering, is almost hidden by a beautifully 
hand-painted screen, and another fan-shaped 
one containing photos. The back of a 
luxurious C&tifpi nisi ftraitfi by the back of an 


[fiunn d r Sfunrt. 



upright u Pleyel " piano ; this also having 
an Oriental covering, upon which rest some 
silver candlesticks, a framed portrait of the 
eldest son of the house— u Dolly " written 
across it — and a basket of ferns and flowers. 
Beside the piano is a pile of music ; and what 
a wonderful and fearful number there are 
dedicated and composed for the wedding ! 
How tired even //it's amiable Princess must be 
of wading through such an endless mass of 
monotony ! That they had been looked over 
and used, appearances proved : waltz, gavotte, 
and polka* nearly all bearing execrable like- 
nesses of the Princess and the Duke, and 
nearly all not being worth the paper they 

Just now, the fire-place is fronted with 
handsome hand-painted screens ; on the 
right— almost in the corner — standing a large 
canopied seat, with a basket-work exterior 
and lined in satin — a very com for table -looking 
arrangement it is* Near this stands a huge 
work-basket, from which peep out sundry 
pieces of knitting of various sizes and 
colours. You all know how the Princess has 
been in the habit of working for the poor 
around her gates ! How with never-failing 
industry she has sewn and knitted, even con- 
tinuing her work when chatting to morning 
callers ; finding time all too short for the work 
she ever found awaiting her. 

The door panels 
are exquisitely 
painted with bran- 
ches of trees, 
having squirrels in 
playful attitudes, 
strikingly true to 
life. Over each 
doorway depend 
Oriental curtains, 
and a number of 
pretty white flower- 
stands display ferns 
and white Mar- 
guerite. Time is 
indicated by a 
French time-piece 
in malachite and 
ormolu, and by a 
handsome little 
travelling dock on 
the writing tabic, 
Hanging lamps 
and bronze cande- 
labra light the 
room by night ; 

French windows opening on to a charm- 
ing white painted balcony, replete with 
hanging baskets of ferns and flowers, and 
looking on to lawn and gardens. Small and 
unpretentious in appearance is the room 
wherein the Princess has spent so many 
happy hours of her youth, but so cosy, so 
thoroughly home-like, and showing such 
evidences of its owner's taste and skill, and 
so full of pretty momentos of relations and 
friends, that I should imagine feelings of 
real regret would arise at leaving such a 

Opening from here is a room used for 
various purposes: sometimes by Mile. 
Ikicka, to write letters, etc, sometimes by the 
young Princes to read and smoke. In it 
there is a goodly array of books \ travels, 
history, magazines, military and naval works, 
and a case containing the whole of Scott's. 
A few old paintings may be seen, also a few 
good caricatures, one especially funny of 
Corney Grain and Grossmith. In the centre 
of the mantel is a bronze bust of Her 
Majesty, and in different parts of the room 
other bronzes, one or two time-pieces, some 
old china, and a model of a mortar Writing 
tables and easy comfortable chairs abound, 
with an assorted collection of pipes and other 
masculine property here and there, 

Now I retrace my steps through the 

the daylight 
streaming through 

Digitized by 

so, M 


duke OF TECK's SI^|lftijflf9ff rom 


\*jnnn d SirtarL 



Princess's room and the corridor, and travers- 
ing the Entrance-hall, find myself in the 
Inner Hall, From here the Grand Staircase 
opens on the right, with a door on same side 
leading into the Duke's sitting-room ; the 
entrance to the drawing-room faces ; the 
dining-room opening on the left. This Inner 
Hall is rather dark, but there is sufficient 
light with which to admire four fine pieces of 
Gobelin tapestry, sonic fine old pain tings one 
being a portrait of Queen Charlotte — some 
antique carved oak furniture, and fine 
Oriental vases. 

First of the above-named rooms which I 
enter is the Duke's room; a handsome 
apartment with cream painted ceiling and 
imitation-marble papered walls, with green 
dado, and an inlaid floor scattered with 
druggets and skins. On the walls I noticed 
a portrait of Her Royal Highness the Princess 
Mar) p in her youth, one of the Princess May, 
and a copy of "Trust" Other portraits 
repose on easels and over the mantel ; on 
the same being a bust of George IV., two 
large salvers, " Tel-el-Kebir, 13th Sept,/ f 
inscribed thereon, and some engraved jugs 
and cups. Tables, large and small, contain 

a number of valuable and quaint curios ; 
in one corner is a fine shield artisti- 
cally draped, and in various parts are 
swords, daggers, assegais, and other martial 
weapons. The Duke of Teck is no drawing- 
room soldier merely, but has seen practical 
service, and knows by experience the utility 
of these exhibits — - many of them being 
brought from lands where he has fought 
A cabinet containing a collection of club 
badges is interesting, as is also the very large 
number of photographs which are hi evidence. 

That the Duke is a thoughtful reader is 
easily understood by examining the fine 
collection of books displayed on shelves, and 
on cabinets and tables, I am not going to 
weary you with a list, but am sure you will 
be interested in knowing that His Serene 
Highness is a reader of The Strand 
Magazine, the bound volumes of which 
show much general use. 

Now, just a peep into the Duke's dressing- 
room, looking ever)- inch a soldiers room. 
For an instant, you may imagine yourself 
in a tent, it being hung in brown holland ; 
the furniture, in light oak, is simplicity itself. 
Portraits of the Duchess and her children 

from a i'fcpto. b$\ 









fhiiM a Photo, hv Gunn (f Stnart, 
{Tnktn hg tjxcisl permiaion for The Str\^d Hada£I!i&) 

appear here and there, and riding- 
whips, etc,, are plentiful* 

The Drawing-room, certainly the 
finest room in the house, comes 
next From its large windows a 
magnificent view of the park is 
obtained, The concave ceiling and 
walls are painted in cream, with 
gold relief: on the walls being two 
fine paintings, which are immedi- 
ately noticeable —George TIL and 
his queen. The curt 1 ins are 
Oriental, as much as two hundred 
years old, and very costly. The 
carpet is Axminster, here and there 
appearing skins and rugs. There 
is a suite of furniture upholstered 
in pale blue satin, with frames of 
over- burnished gold ; while some 
is covered in Beauvais tapestry, 
and some draped with Indian 
shawls, with frames of ebony. It 
would be interesting to know the 
histories of much of antiquity here ; 
unquestionably these things were 
many of them the property of 
departed monarchs and princes, 
and could tell many a strange tale 
of bygone courtly circles. 

Digitized by \jO{ 

I noticed several beautiful 
cabinets in this room ; two of them, 
being of great interest, I had photo- 
graphed. One is of ebony with 
ormolu mounts, and Sevres plaques 
in door panels; it contains the 
caskets and trowels which have 
been presented to the Duchess 
by different institutions which she 
has helped by her sympathy and 

The other cabinet was formerly 
the property of Queen Charlotte ; 
it is of Amboyna and tulip wood, 
beautifully inlaid, and is much 
prized by its present Royal owner, 
Then there is one standing at each 
side of the fire-place, given by Queen 
Victoria. They are of precious 
wood, handsomely mounted, and 
are full of costly curios, many of 
them profusely jewelled. Another 
— fitted with numbers of drawers — 
looks of James L period ; and still 
another I note, which must be of 
great value, being of inlaid pearl. 

On top of some of these cabi- 
nets is a fine display of Sevres 

<1 riuAt. l>tf] QUEEN CHARLOTTE'S CASJ NET, \fwunn & JS'twrt. 




From a Phuta, 6jr] 


[fj wi4u t£ Stuart. 

china, Bleu du roi and Bleu cle Vincenne, 
On the marble mantel is a time-piece by 
Mignuel, some Sevres and ormolu can- 
delabra, and two bronze equestrian orna- 
ments. Palms, ferns, and flowers flourish 
in Oriental and Dresden vases; hand- 
painted screens are rich in variety, Buhl 
and ormolu tables are plentiful, and contain 
costly curios of every description, Some 
valuable mirrors are much to be admired, 
having frames with pebbled fruit in relief. 
There are some fine ormolu candelabra, 
mounted on ebony and ormolu pedestals ; 
and a bronze bust of Charles L, which must 
not be overlooked, I spent some consider- 
able time in front of a glass-topped table, the 
contents of which are unique and priceless: 
medals, coins, orders and cases, showing en- 
graving and chasing of the rarest, the articles 
themselves being of purest gold, and in many 
cases studded with precious jewels. 

One corner of the room has a specially 
artistic appearance : from the ceiling floating 
a gilded angel, supporting hangings of Indian 
shawls, arranged with very fine effect. 

A magnificent grand piano, by Stein way and 
Sons, occupies a conspicuous position, This 
is known as a "No. 2 Grand"; it was 
presented to Her Royal Highness the 
Duchess by the inhabitants of Richmond 
and vicinity on the occasion of her silver 
vol vi^av 

wedding. The 
cost of the instru- 
ment was 225 
guineas, the selec- 
tion being left to 
Signor Paolo TostL 
Having had an 
opportunity of 
hearing its tones 
in the room where 
it is standing, I 
can here testify to 
its beauty and 

In a corner of 
the room, opposite 
the piano, a door 
opens into the 
Blue-room, the 
private sitting- 
room of the 
Duchess. It is 
luxuriously fur- 
nished, yet has a 
very cosy home- 
like appearance. 
The ceiling is 
painted in the 
palest of blue, relieved with cream and 
gold, with walls in dark blue and gold 
dado. On the walls are some good 
portraits ; the Duke of Teck, the late 
Duchess of Cambridge, and the Princess 
May, by Long — a silver wedding gift — 
being the chief of them. There is a 
brge and very fine collection of miniatures, 
some French clocks, some costly fans and 
mirrors, together with hosts of curios, rich 
and rare, Sevres china, ormolu and Dresden 
candelabra, stand on choice cabinets. Here, 
again, I notice some of the furniture is 
upholstered in lieauvais tapestry, while 
some is in pale blue or sage, showing 
up well against the dark background of 
the walls. On one chair may be 
seen a handsome cushion — evidently 
presentation — stuffed with rose leaves, and 
hand-embroidered, a verse of Scripture beau- 
tifully worked : " And the leaves of the tree 
were for the healing of the Nations," over 
this appearing the name of Her Royal High- 
ness. Tables arc numerous, but two are of 
special note, one being the writing table of 
the Duchess, It is crowded with corre- 
spondence in neat piles, the entire arrange- 
ment being evidence of inherent method rid 
order. The other table, I note, has a glass- 
case top, filled with medals and souvenirs. 
On AiSro.^.WW4,^ attention is 



drawn to a silver horse-shoe, in an open velvet 
case, this being commemorative of the first 
Horse Show held at Richmond in 1892. 

Portraits— chiefly family ones— are in every 
direction, some of the groups having most 
interesting associations. A crystal case of 
ancient jewellery must be of immense value, 
as must also be the number of tasteful vases 
here displayed* One, of some considerable 
size, has some hand-pointed bars of music 
shown on it, being passages from works of 
Verdi, Tosti, and Donizetti. Very much 
more might be said of this pretty abutment ; 
but, as there are one or two more rooms 
demanding brief notice, I leave it, and 
proceed to the Bird-room : this taking its 
name from a very pretty paper on the walls, 
showing birds of all sorts and colours. 
This room is used as a breakfast-room ; but 
the family, when alone, often dine here also. 
In it are some u Landseers"and other pictures, 
together with a number of old prints, some as 
far back as 1 50 1. An ordinary dining-table 
stands in the centre, most of the chairs and 
couches being of basket work, The room 


opens on to a pretty Oriental balcony, from 
whence is a flight of steps leading down to 
green sward and flowery bed, On this 
balcony the family often take tea when the 
weather will not allow of it being taken 
under the favourite copper beech. The 
walls are covered with Indian matting; 
numbers of cosy or capacious basket chairs, 
and tables of the same, comprise the furni- 
ture, while from the ceiling depend baskets 
of flowers and creeping plants. Very artistic 
is this pretty balcony, and I am not surprised 
when I hear of its being much frequented, 

Now I wend my way to the Dining-room, 
a room which has lately seen some distin- 
guished gatherings round its dining-table. It 
is a fine, handsome apartment, lofty and 
light, with panellings of red bordered in gold 
moulding. On the walls are some grand 
paintings : Frederick, King of Bohemia, by 
Mierevelt ; Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia, 
by Van Dyck ; the three children of 
Henrietta Maria, by Sir Peter Lely ; and the 
Duchess of Cambridge. A good photograph of 
the latter is here presented ; it is, as you will 
see, hanging over the side- 
board, on which are some 
very fine pieces of china. 
On either side are some 
beautifully worked screens, 
standing usually, however, 
on either side of the fire- 
place. In the centre of 
the room hangs a massive 
lamp, in the place of the 
chandeliers generally seen ; 
White Lodge, owing to its 
isolated position, not being 
supplied with gas. Heavy 
crimson curtains, Turkey 
carpets of the same hue, 
and red morocco-covered 
furniture make up a warm, 
rich effect, while flowers 
herej as everywhere, cast 
around their brightness 
and fragrance. 

The Green Corridor 
must have but brief notice, 
though one might spend 
hours in seeing it ; it is 
a long, winding place with 
ceiling and walls {xiinted 
in the most beautiful 
shades, from which it takes 
its name. It is literally 
full of things of beauty : 
] M^O W bi net& > Oriental 

ilTfW'M^ pIushand 



hand-painted screens, malachite and or- 
molu caskets, ormolu and tortoise-shell 
time pieces 3 a large number of enamels and 
miniatures, paintings and old prints; buhl 
and ormolu tables, and numbers of baskets 
and stands containing a perfect wealth of 
flowers. It is here that the Duchess likes to 
receive her visitors, and here is her favourite 
seat near one of the many windows looking 
out on one of the prettiest parts of the 
grounds. These same grounds are well 
worth a visit, the Duke taking a special 
pride in their arrangement Turn which way 
you may, something uncommonly picturesque 
meets the eye. Several times I saw some- 
thing amusing, too, both here and from the 
drawing-room windows. It goes without 
saying that just at the time of my visit — 
immediately before the eventful 6th of July 
—White Lodge was very much a centre of 
attraction, Mr. and Mrs. John Bull and 
family drove out in waggonette and trap to 
see the place ; hence it was that, on account 
of the shrubs encircling the grounds being 
dense and high, one was continually seeing 

heads bobbing up and down like jacks m a 
box, It was possible to look over the hedge 
by standing up on the seats of the carriage ; 
so the very utmost was made of the oppor- 
tunity, with amusing results as above. 

When I drive away from this most pleasant 
of Royal houses, I am conscious of having 
been where a family, at once united and 
affectionate, are almost dreading the ordeal 
of the first parting. Bright and brilliant as 
the future appears, the beloved daughter and 
adored sister will never again be the life and 
eunshine of the home as she has been, and it 
is but natural that her absence will cause 
a void that can never be filled. The family 
loss, however, is the country's gain ; for a 
Princess is coming to us who has received 
the wise training and counsel of an English 
home ; who has passed her youthful days in 
the midst of the people over whom one 
day she may be called to reign, and 
who has already gained their good -will 
and respectful affection, by the many good 
works in which she has assisted her illus- 
trious mother. 

Jgltr— — ^ UN |VERSITY OF MICHIGAN »"—*"* 

Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 

By the Authors of u The Medicine Lady," 

WAS a rather young-looking 
man until the incident which I 
am about to relate took place. 
I will frankly confess that it 
aged me, telling for a time 
on my nerves, and rendering 

my right hand so shaky that I was unfit to 

perform operations Of a critical and delicate 

character I had just got back to town after 

my summer holiday when the circumstance 

occurred which sends strange thrills of horror 

through me even now. 

It was a fine night towards the end of 

September. I had not many patients at this 

time, and felt a sudden desire 

to go to the theatre. Hailing a 

hansom, I ordered the man to 

drive me to the Criterion. I 

was in evening dress, and wore 

a diamond ring of remarkable 

value on my finger. This ring 

had been the present of a 

rich nabob, one of my patients, 

who had taken a fancy to 

me, and had shown his pre- 
ference in this manner. 1 dis- 
like jewellery as a rule, and 

never wear it ; but to-night I 

slipped the ring on my finger, 

more from a sudden whim than 

for any other reason. 1 secured 

a good seat in the front row of 

the dress circle, and prepared 

for an evening's amusement. 
The play was nothing in 

particular, and the time of year 

was a slack one with regard to 

the audience. Soon the curtain 

was raised, and the players 

began their performance- They 

acted without much spirit, the 

regular company being away on 


I was beginning to regret I 

had come, when my attention 

was arrested by the late arrival 

of a couple, who seated them- 
selves in the chairs next to 

my own. One of them was a mn*i of 

striking appearance, the other a very young 

and lovely girl. The man was old. He 

hid silvery white hair, which was cut 

rather close to his head — dark eyes, a 
dark complexion, and a clean-shaven face. 
His lips were firm> and when shut looked like 
a straight line — his eyes were somewhat close 
to his very handsome, aquiline nose. He 
was a tall man, with broad shoulders, and 
held himself erect as if only twenty-five instead 
of sixty years had gone over his head. 

His companion was also tall — very slender 
and willowy in appearance, with a quantity of 
soft blonde hair, a fair face, and eyes which 
I afterwards discovered were something the 
colour of violets, I am not a judge of dress, 
and cannot exactly describe what the girl 

wore— I think she was in black lace, but 
am not certain, I remember, however, 
quite distinctly that . Jier opera-cloak was 
lined with soft white fur ; I also know that 




she held in her hand a very large white 
feather fan, which she used assiduously 
during the performance. 

The girl sat next to me. She had an 
opera-glass, and immediately on her arrival 
began to use it for purposes of criticism, I 
guessed, by her manner and by her gently- 
uttered remarks to her companion, that she 
was an habitual playgoer, and I surmised, 
perhaps correctly — I cannot say — that she 
knew something by actual experience of 
amateur acting. 

Bad as the play undoubtedly was, it 
seemed to interest this beautiful girl. Be- 
tween the intervals, which she occupied 
examining the actors, she made eager re- 
marks to the gentleman by her side. I 
noticed that he replied to her shortly. I 
further noticed that not the slightest move- 
ment on his part was unperceived by her. I 
felt sure that they were father and daughter, 
and was further convinced that they were 
intensely attached to each other. 

I have never considered myself an impres- 
sionable character, but there is not the least 
doubt that this girl — I think I may say this 
couple — interested me far more than the 
play I had come to see. The girl was 
beautiful enough to rouse a man's admiration, 
but I am certain that the feeling in my 
breast was not wholly that. I believe now 
that from the first moment I saw her she 
threw a sort of spell over me, and that my 
better judgment, my cool reason, and natural 
powers of observation were brought into 
abeyance by a certain power which she must 
have possessed. 

She dropped her fan with some awkward- 
ness. As a matter of course, I stooped to 
pick it up. In doing so my hand inadver- 
tently touched hers, and I encountered the 
full gaze of her dark blue eyes. 

When the first act came to an end, the 
invariable attendant with ices put in an 
appearance. * 

4 'You will have an ice?" said the girl, 
turning eagerly to the gentleman by her side. 
He shook his head, but motioning to the 
woman to approach, bought one and gave it * 
to his young companion. 

" This will refresh you, Leonora," he said. 
"My dear, I wish you to eat it." 

She smiled at him, and, leaning back com- 
fortably in her chair, partook with evident 
gratification of the slight refreshment. 

I was careful not to appear to watch her, 
but as I turned for the apparent purpose of 
looking at a distant part of the audience, I was 
startled by the fixed gaze of the man who sat 

by her side. His closely-set dark eyes were 
fixed on me. He seemed to look me all 
over. There was a sinister expression in the 
thin lines of his closely-shut lips. The 
moment I glanced at him he turned away. 
I felt a sudden sense of repulsion. I have 
had something of the same feeling when I 
looked full into the eyes of a snake. 

The curtain rose, and the play went on. 
The girl once more had recourse to her opera- 
glasses, and once more her full attention was 
arrested by the commonplace performance. 
About the middle of the act, her elderly 
companion bent over and whispered some- 
thing to her. Her hand trembled, the opera- 
glass slid down unnoticed on her lap. She 
looked at him anxiously, and said something 
which I could not hear. 

" I shall be better outside," I heard him 
whisper in response. " Don't be anxious ; 
Til come back as soon as ever I am better." 

He rose and made his way towards the 
nearest entrance. 

As he did so, I turned and looked after 

<c Is he ill ? " I whispered to myself. " He 
does not look it. How anxious that poor 
girl is. Her hand is trembling even now." 

When the man got as far as the entrance 
door he turned and looked at the girl, and 
for an instant his cat-like eyes gave me a 
second swift glance. Again I felt a sensation 
of dislike, but again the feeling quickly 

I wish to repeat here, that I think my 
judgment was a little in abeyance that even- 
ing. I felt more attracted than ever by my 
next-door neighbour, and yet I am certain, 
positively certain, that the feeling which 
actuated me was not wholly admiration. 

The play went on, but the girl no longer 
looked through her opera-glasses. She sat 
listlessly back in her chair. Now and then 
she turned impatiently towards the door, and 
then, with a quick sigh, glanced at her pro- 
gramme, or used her large feather fan with 
unnecessary force. 

The minutes went on, but the old gentle- 
man did not return. Once the girl half rose 
from her seat, pulling her opera-cloak about 
her as she did so ; but then again she sat 
quietly back, with a sort of enforced calm. 

I was careful not to appear to watch 
her, but once her eyes met mine, and the un- 
speakable anxiety in them forced me, involun- 
tarily, to bend forward and make my first 
remark to her. 

" Can I do anythin? for you ? " I whispered. 

" Are uffl?'tRgF.Mte,r mpanion ' " 



*' Oh, thank you/' she replied, with a long- 
drawn sigh, 4i The gentleman is my father, 
I am very anxious about him. I fear he 
is ill" 

11 Would you like me to go and see why 
he has not returned ? " I asked. 

* £ If you would be so kind/' she answered, 

I rose, and went out into the lobbies I 
went quickly to the gentlemen's cloak-room, 
and put some questions to the attendant. 

" Is there an elderly gentleman here ? " I 
asked-—" tall, 
with white hair 
and a somewhat 
dark complexion. 
He left the 
theatre half an 
hour ago, and 
his daughter is 
afraid that he has 
been taken ill" 

The man who 
had charge of 
the room knew 
nothing about 
him, but another 
attendant who 
was standing 
near suddenly re- 
marked \ — 

" I think I 
know the gentle- 
man you mean. 
He is not ill." 

"How can you 
tell?" I replied. 

"Well, about 
half an hour ago 
a man answering 
exactly to your 
description came 
out of the theatre, 
He came from 
the dress circle. 

He asked for a cigar, and lighted it I lost 
sight of him immediately afterwards, but 
I think he went out" 

I returned to give this information to the 
anxious girl To my surprise it did not at 
all comfort her, 

" He must be ill," she replied " He 
would not leave me alone if he were not ill. 
I noticed that an attack was coming on. He 
is subject to attacks of a serious character 
They are of the nature of fits, and they are 
dangerous, very dangerous." 

u If he were ill," I replied, " he would have 
sent you word in here, and have got you to 


go to him. He may merely have gone out 
to get a little air, which relieves him." 
" I do not know* Perhaps," she replied 
"And when he is at home," I continued, 
" if he really has gone home without you, he 
will naturally send at once for a doctor/ 1 

She shook her head when I made this last 

*- My father will never see a doctor," she 
said ; li he hates the medical profession. He 
does not believe in doctors. He has such a 
prejudice against them, that he would rather 

die than consult 

"That is a 
pity," I answered, 
" for in cases like 
his, I have no 
doubt that there 
is much allevia- 
tion to be ob- 
tained from men 
who really under- 
stand the science 
of medicine." 

She looked 
fixedly at me 
when I said this. 
Her face was 
quite piteous in 
its anxiety. I 
could see that 
she was very 
young, but her 
features looked 
small and drawn 
now, and her eyes 
almost too large 
for her little face, 
" I am very 
anxious," she 
said 1 with a sigh. 
" My father is 
the only relation 
I possess ; I am 
his only child. He is ill — I know he is 
very ill I am most anxious." 

She pulled her opera-cloak once more 
tightly about her, and looked with lack -lustre 
eyes on the stage. Our conversation had 
been so low that no one had been disturbed 
by it ; we were obliged to keep our heads 
close together as we conversed, and once, I 
am sure, her golden hair must have touched 
my cheek. 

" I cannot stand this any longer," she 
exclaimed, suddenly. " I must go out — I 
won't wait for the end of the play," 

She rose as she spoke, and I followed her, 




as a matter of course. We found the lobbies 
almost deserted, and here I suddenly faced 
her and tried to use argument. 

"You are unnecessarily sensitive and 
alarmed," I said. " I assure you that I speak 
with knowledge, as I am a member of the 
medical profession, against which your father 
hz.s such a prejudice. A man as ill as you 
describe your father to be would not stop to 
light a cigar. I took the liberty of having a 
good look at your father when he was leaving 
the theatre, and he did not appear ill. A 
medical man sees tokens of illness before 
anyone else. Please rest assured that there 
is nothing much the matter." 

" Do you think," she answered, flashing an 
angry glance at me, " that if there is nothing 
the matter, my father would leave me here 
alone? Do you think he cares so little 
about me that he would not return to take 
me home ? " 

I had no reply to make to this. Of course, 
it was scarcely likely that any father would 
leave so beautiful a young girl unprotected 
in a theatre at night 

"And," she continued, "how do you 
know that the gentleman who asked for a 
cigar was my father ? There may have been 
somebody else here with white hair." 

I felt convinced that the man who lit a 
c : gar and the father of this young girl were 
identical, but again I had no answer to make. 

"I must go home," she said. "I am terribly 
anxious — my father may be dead when I get 
home — he may not have gone home at all. 
Oh, what shall I do ? He is all the world to 
me ; if he dies, I shall die or go mad." 

" I am sure your fears are exaggerated," I 
began, " but perhaps the best thing you can 
do is to go home. Have you a carriage — 
shall I see if it has arrived ? " 

" My father and I have a private hansom," 
she answered. "It may not have come yet, but 
perhaps it has. I will go with you, if you will 
allow me. You wouldn't recognise the hansom." 

" Then take my arm," I said. 

I led her downstairs. I am not impres- 
sionable, but the feel of her little fingers on 
my coat-sleeve was, to say the least of it, 
sympathetic. I earnestly 1 wished to help her, 
and her exaggerated fears did not seem 
unnatural to me. 

The private hansom was waiting just 
round the corner. It had arrived on the 
scene in good time, for the play would not 
be over for nearly another hour. I helped the 
young lady in. She was trembling very 
much, and her face, lit up by the gaslight, 
looked pale. | 

"Would you like me to see you home?" 
I asked. " I will, with pleasure." 

" Oh, if you would be so kind ! " she 
answered. "And did not you say that you 
are a medical man ? If my father is ill, it might 
be possible for you to prescribe for him." 

" He will not allow it, I fear," I answered. 
" You say he has no faith in doctors." 

" No more he has, but when he gets these 
strange, these terrible seizures, he is often 
unconscious for a long, long time. Oh, do 
please see me home, Dr. " 

" Halifax," I answered. 

"Thank you, so much. My name is 
Whitby — Leonora Whitby. Please, Dr. 
Halifax, come home with me, and prescribe 
for my father if you possibly can." 

" I will come with you with pleasure," I 
answered. I stepped into the hansom as I 

She made way for me to seat myself by 
her side. The sweep of her long black lace 
dress fell partly over my legs. The hansom 
driver opened the little window in the roof 
for directions. 

" What address am I to give ? '* I said to 
Leonora Whitby. 

"Tell him to go back," she answered, 

" Go back," I shouted to the man. 

He slapped down the little window and we 
started forward at a brisk pace. It was not 
until long afterwards that I remembered that 
I was going away with a strange girl, to a 
place I knew nothing about, the address 
even of which was unknown to me. 

It was a splendid starlight night ; the air 
was very balmy. It blew into our faces as 
we travelled westward. First of all we dashed 
down Piccadilly. We passed Hyde Park 
Corner, and turned in the direction of those 
innumerable squares and fashionable houses 
which lie west of St. George's Hospital. 
Leonora talked as we drove together. She 
seemed to be almost in good spirits. Once 
she said to me very earnestly : — 

" I do not know how to thank you. It is 
impossible for me to tell you how deeply 
indebted I am to you." 

" Don't mention it," I answered. 

" But I must," she replied. " I cannot be 
merely conventional, when I am treated so 
unconventionally. Another man would not 
have noticed a girl's anxiety, nor a girl's 
distress. Another man would not have lost 
half the play to help an anxious girl. 
Another man would not have put complete 
faith in a stranger as vou have done, Dr. 


University of Michigan 



" I do not know that 
I have done anything 
more than a man in my 
profession ought 
to be ready to 
do at all times," 
I answered, 
"You know, or 
perhaps you do 
not know, that 
a doctor who 
really loves his 
profession puts 
it before every- 
thing else* Wher- 
ever it calls him, 
he is bound to 
go. You have 
asked me to visit a sick 
man with you — how is 
it possible for me to 

"You are the first , 
doctor who has ever 
come to our house, 11 she 

A great blaze of gaslight from a large 
central lamp fell on her face as she spoke, 
I could not help remarking its pallor. 
Her eyes were full of trouble. Her lips 
were tremulous. 

"You are the first doctor who has ever 
come to our house/' she repeated. " I almost 
wish I had not asked you to come." 

" Why so ? Do you think your father will 
resent my visit — that he will regard it as an 
intrusion ? M 

"Oh, it isn't that," she answered, Then 
she seemed to pull herself together as with a 
great effort. 

"You are coming, and there's an end of 
it," she said ; " well^ I shall always be grate- 
ful to you for your kindness." 

"I hope I may be able 

When I said this her face grew brighter. 

"I am sure you will," she said, eagerly. 
* 4 You look clever. The moment I saw your 
face, I knew you were clever. The moment 
I looked at your hands, I saw capabilities in 
them. You have got the hands of a good 

"What can you know about it?" I 
answered, with a laugh. 

"Oh," she said, with an answering laugh, 
"there are few things I do not know some- 
thing about. You would be an encyclopedia 
of all kinds of strange knowledge if you led 
my life." 

to assist your 

"Well," I said, 
"I, of course, 
know nothing 
about you, but 
will you an- 
swer one pardon- 
able question ? 
Where are we 
going ? I do 
not quite recog- 
nise this part of 
town, and yet I 
have lived in 
London the 
greater part of 
my days. Are 
we going east, 
west, north, or 
south ? I have 
lost my bear- 
ings. What is 
your address ? " 
"We are go- 
ing west," she 
replied, in a 
perfectly cold, 
calm voice. 
Then, before I 
could interrupt 
her, she pushed 
her long feather 
fan through the window. 

" Take the short cut T Andrews," she 
called to the driver. "Don't go the 
round. We are in a great hurry ■ take the 
short cut." 
- " Yes, miss," he shouted back to her. 

We were driving down a fairly broad 
thoroughfare at the time, but now we turned 
abruptly and entered the veriest slums I had 
ever seen. Shouting children, drunken men 
and women filled the streets. A bad smell 
rose on the night air. 

Was it possible that this beautiful, refined- 
looking girl lived in so repulsive a neighbour- 
hood ? But no, it was only as she expressed 
it, a short cut- The horse was a fleet one, 
and we soon found ourselves in a lonely and 
deserted square. We pulled up at a house 
which had not a light showing anywhere. I 
got out first and helped Miss Whitby to 
descend from the hansom. 

"Will you kindly inquire if your father 
has returned?" I asked her; "for if not, 
there does not seem much use in my com- 
ing in/' 

" Oh ! come in, in any case for a moment," 
she answered, in a cheerful tone. " 1 can 
see th^^^g^e to bed, so 

O BACk 4 I HlUlL'TiLUi 



solitary gas lamp 

up her willowy 

with a sense of 


I must let myself in with this latch-key, but 
I shall find out in a moment if father has 
returned. Just come in and wait in the hall 
until I find out/' 

She raised her beautiful face to mine as 
she spoke. Her opera-cloak fell away from 
her slim shoulders, One white slender hand 
was raised to push back a refractor}' lock of 
golden hair. There was a 
at the corner, and it lit 
figure, I looked at her 
admiration which I could scarcely 
We entered the house, 

" By the way, can you tell me if there 
is a cab-stand anywhere near?" I asked, 
suddenly, "as when I have done with your 
father, I should like to hasten home, and 
I have not the least idea what part of the 
world I am in." 

" West, JJ she answered, " very much west 
When you leave this house, all you have to 
do is to take the first turning on your right, 
and you will find a cab-stand. There art- 
night cabs always on the stand, so it 
will be perfectly easy for you to get 
home whenever your duties here are 

We were now standing inside the 
house. The heavy hall door suddenly 
slammed behind us. We were in pitch 

■* What a worry the servants are," 
exclaimed Miss Whitby's voice. " I 
always desire them to leave matches 
and a candle on the hall table. They 
have neglected my orders. Do you 
mmd staving for a moment in the dark, 
Dr, Halifax?" 

" Not at all," I replied. 
She rushed away, I heard her foot- 
steps getting fainter and fainter as she 
ascended the stairs. She was evidently 
going to seek matches up several stories. 
I was alone in the strange house. Silent 
as the grave was the dark hall 1 
turned my head to see if any stray beams 
of gaslight were coming through the 
fan-light, I found that there was 
fanlight In short, the darkness 
of the Egyptian order — it might 

The moments passed* Miss Whitby was 
a long time coming back. As I stood and 
waited for her, the darkness seemed to me to 
become more than ever Egyptian. 

I heard a faint sound beneath me + Where 
did it come from ? Did the servants, who 
kept such early hours, sleep in the cellars ? 
1 sprang in the direction of the hall door. 

Could I have found the lock I would cer- 
tainly have opened it, if for no other reason 
than to let in a little light. 

Fumble as I would, however, I could not 
discover any hasp, handle, or bolt The 
next instant a glimmer of light from above 
streamed gratefully down, and I heard the 
swish of Leonora's evening dress. 

" I beg a thousand pardons," she ex- 

claimed, as she 
you think of 
my leaving you 
so long in that 
dark, dismal 
hall ? But the 
fact is, I could 
not resist the 
temptation of 
finding out 
whether my 
father had re- 
turned. He 
has ; he is still 

joined me. "What must 





in his bedroom, Now t will you come up- 
stairs with me ? " 

She ran on in front, and I obediently 
followed On the first landing we entered a 
sitting-roon% which was gaily lighted with a 
couple of lamps covered with soft gold 
shades, and on the centre table of which a 
meal was spread- a | frnpn 




"Sit down for a moment," said Miss 
Whitby ; " you must have some refreshment. 
What can I give you ? I am always stupid 
about opening champagne bottles; but per- 
haps you can do it for yourself. This is 
Jules Mumtn. If my father were here I 
am sure he would recommend it." 

" I don't care for anything," I replied. " If 
your father is ill, I should like to see him. 
Have you told him that I am here ? " 

11 No. Do you think I would dare ? Did 
not I tell you how he hated doctors ? " 

"Then perhaps he is not ill enough to 
need one," I said, rising to my feet. "In that 
case I will wish you good evening." 

" Now you are angry with me," said Miss 
Whitby ; " I am sure I am not surprised, for 
I have taken a most unwarrantable liberty 
with you. But if you only would have 
patience ! I want you to see him, of course, 
but we must manage it." 

She sank down on a sofa, and pressed her 
hand to her brow. She was wonderfully 
beautifuL I can frankly state that I had 
never seen anyone so lovely before. A 
strange sensation of admiration mixed with 
repulsion came over me, as I stood by the 
hearth and watched her. 

"Look here," I said, suddenly, "I have 
come to this house for the express purpose of 
seeing your father, who is supposed to be ill. 
If you do not take me to him immediately, I 
must say good-night." 

She laughed when I said this. 

" It's so easy to say good-night," she 
replied Then, of a sudden, her manner 
changed. " Why do I tease you," she said, 
"when you have been more than kind to 
me ? In truth, there never was a girl in all 
London who had less cause for laughter than 
I have now. There is one being in the 
world whom I love. My fears about my 
father have been verified, Dr. Halifax. He 
has just gone through one of those strange 
and terrible seizures. When he left the 
theatre I knew he would have it, for I am 
so well acquainted with the signs. I hoped 
we should have returned in time to see him 
in the unconscious stage. He has recovered 
consciousness, and I am a little anxious about 
the effect on him of your presence in the room. 
Of course, beyond anything, I want you to 
see him. But what do you advise me to do ? " 

Her manner was so impressive, and the 
sorrow on her young face so genuine, that 
once more I was the doctor, with all my 
professional instincts alive and strong. 

"The best thing to do is this," I said. 
"You will take me to your father's room, 

Digitized by ^OOQ IC 

and introduce me quite quietly as Dr. 
Halifax. The chances are a hundred to one 
that when he sees the real doctor, his 
prejudices'* against the imaginary ones will 
melt into air. One thing at least I can 
promise — he shall not blame you." 

Miss Whitby appeared to ponder over my 
advice for a moment 

"All right," she said, suddenly. "What 
you suggest is a risk, but it is perhaps the 
best thing to do. We will go upstairs at 
once. Will you follow me ? " 

The house was well furnished, but very 
dark. There was a strange and unusual 
absence of gas. Miss Whitby held a lighted 
candle in her hand as she flitted upstairs. 

We paused on the next landing. She 
turned abruptly to her right, and we entered 
a room which must have been over the sitting- 
room where the supper was laid. This room 
was large and lofty. It was furnished in the 
old-fashioned style. The four-post bedstead 
was made of dark mahogany. The wardrobe 
and chairs were of the same. When we entered 
the room was in darkness, and the little flicker 
of the candle did not do much to light it up. 

Leonora laid it down on a table, and 
walked directly up to the bed. A man was 
lying there stretched out flat with his arms to 
his sides. He was in evening dress, and it 
did not take me an instant to recognise him 
as the old man who had accompanied the 
girl to the theatre. His eyes were shut now, 
and he looked strikingly handsome. His 
whole face was so pale, that it might have 
been cut in marble. He did not move an 
eyelid nor stir a finger when I approached 
and bent over him. 

"Father," said Miss Whitby. 

He made her no answer. 

" He is unconscious again — he is worse," 
she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and 
looking at me with terror. 

" No, no," I answered. " There is nothing 
to be alarmed about." 

I said this in confidence, for I had taken 
hold of my patient's wrist, and found that 
the pulse was full and steady. I bent a little 
closer over the man, and it instantly flashed 
through my mind with a sensation of amaze- 
ment that his unconscious condition was 
only feigned. 

I remembered again the sinister expression 
of his eyes as he left the theatre, and the 
thought which flashed then through my brain 
returned to me. 

"He does not look ill." 

I put his hand back on the bed, but not 
too quietly, and asking Miss Whitby to bring 




the candle near, deliberately lifted first one 
eye-lid and then the other. If the man were 
feigning unconsciousness he did it well. The 
eyes had a glassy, fixed appearance, but when 
I passed the candle backwards and forwards 
across the pupils, they acted naturally. 
Raising an eye-lid I pressed the tip of one 
finger on the eye-balL He flinched then — it 
was enough. 


"There is no immediate cause for anxiety," 
I said, aloud. " I will prepare a medicine for 
your father. When he has had a good sleep 
he will be much as usual. Have you anyone 
who will go to the nearest chemist's? " 

"I will go, if necessary," she replied, 
** The servants have gone to bed." 

41 Surely one of them could be awakened," 
I answered. "In a case of this kind, you 
must not be too regardful of their comforts. 
I will sit with Mr. Whitby, while you run and 
rouse one of your servants." 

"Very well," she said, after a pause; "I 
will do so." 

a Won't you take the candle ? " I asked. 

" No," she replied, " I can find my way in 
the dark." 

She left the room, closing the door behind her. 

The moment she had done so, the patient 
on the bed moved, opened his eyes, and 
sat up. He looked full at me, 

" May I ask your name ? ,p he inquired 

" Dr, Halifax — I have been asked to pre- 
scribe for you by your daughter," 
" You sat near us at the Criterion ?'* 
" I did" 

" Did my daughter ask you to come home 
with her? " 

"Not exactly— I offered to do so — she 
seemed in distress about you/' 

" Poor Leonora," he said— and then he 
glanced towards the 

" Did she tell you that 
I place no faith in your 
prof essio n ? " he asked 
again, after a pause. 

"She did, and that 
being the case, now that 
you are really better, I 
will leave you." 

" No, don't do so + As 
you have come in one 
sense uninvited, I will 
put you to the test — 
you shall prescribe for 

"Willingly," I replied; 
"and now, as it is 
necessary for a doctor 
and his patient to clearly 
understand each other, I 
may as well tell you at 
once that, the moment I 
saw you, I knew that 
you were not uncon- 

" You are right, I was 
perfectly conscious/' 
"Why did you feign to be otherwise?" I 

"For Leonora's sake, and — my God, I 
cannot stand this any longer ! " He started 
upright, then fell back with a groan, 

" Lock the door," he said ; " don't let her 
in. I am in agony, in frightful agony. I 
suffer from angina pectoris " 

"Leonora knows nothing of this," he 
gasped. " I conceal it from her. I let her 
imagine that I suffer from a sort of epileptic 
fit. Nothing of the kind. This hell fire 
visits me, and I keep it from Leonora. Now 
that you have come, give me something, 
quick, quick ! " 

" I would, if I had the necessary remedy 
by me," I replied- "If you will allow me, 
I will write a prescription for your servant 
I can get what is necessary at the nearest 
chemist's. If you prefer it, I will go myself 
to fetch what is required," 

"No, no — sts,y - not in this room, but 




downstairs. Leonora will take your message. 
I hear her now at the door. Let her in — 
keep your own counsel, Do not betray me*" 

"I can let her in, in a moment," I 
answered; "but first let me say that I think 
you are doing very wrong. Miss Whitby has, 
I am convinced, presence of mind and 
strength of character* She would bear to 
know the true state of things* Sooner or 
later she must find out If you give me 
permission, I will tell her. It is best for me 
to tell her/' 

41 What I suffer from will kill me in the 
end, will it not ? " inquired Whitby. 

u What you suffer from, I need not tell 
you, is a serious malady. I have not, of 
course, gone carefully into your case, and 
it is impossible to do so until the paroxysm 
of pain is over. In the meantime, trinitrin 
will give you immediate relief/' 

"Let me in, please/' called Leonoras 
voice through the keyhole* 

"In one moment," I answered. Then I 
turned to the sick man. 

" Shall I tell your daughter, Mr. Whitby? 
She must have heard us talking. She will 
know that you have at least returned to 

" You can tell her that I am in some pain," 
he replied, " that I have recovered conscious- 
ness, and that you are going to administer 
trinitrin ; now go. Promise me 
that you will reveal nothing 
further to-night." 

He groaned as he spoke, 
clutched the bed-clothes, and 
writhed in agony. 

"I will promise to 
you wish," I said> pity 

I unlocked thedoor,and 
stood before Miss Whitby. 

u My father is better j 
he has recovered con- 
sciousness, "she exclai med 
at once. 

" He wishes to be 
alone and quiet," I re- 
plied " Darkness will 
be good for him. We 
will take the candle and 
go downstairs." 

I lifted it from the 
table as I spoke, and we 
descended together to the 

** Is your servant com- 
ing for the message?"! 

" Yes," she answered. u He will be 
dressed in a moment" 

" Then, if you will give me a sheet of paper 
and a pen and ink, I will write my prescrip- 
tion/' I said 

She fetched me some paper at once ; a pen 
and ink, and a blotting-pad, 

11 Write," she said* u After you have 
written your prescription, and the servant has 
gone to fetch the medicine, you must tell me 
the truth," 

I made no Teply at all to this. I wrote for 
a certain preparation (trinitrin) and a hypo- 
dermic syringe. I handed the paper to Miss 
Whitby, She stood for a moment with it in 
her hand, then she left the room* 

"The servant is a long time coming 
down," she said when she returned, " How 
slow, how unsympathetic servants are, and 
yet we are good to ours. We treat them 
with vast and exceptional consideration." 

"You certainly do," I replied "There 
are few houses of this kind where all the 
servants go to bed when their master and 
mistress happen to be out. There are few 
houses where the servants retire to rest when 
the master happens to be dangerously ill" 

t( Oh, not dangerously, don't say that," she 

u I may be wrong to apply the word Man- 
ger ? just now," I replied ; " but in any ease, it 

do as 

in mv 


3 y Google 

"he wkithei; ©pifwral fron 




is important that your father should get 
relief as soon as possible. I wish you would 
let me go to the chemist myself. " 

" No, the servant is coming," she answered. 

Heavy footsteps were heard descending 
the stairs, and I saw through the partly open 
door the outline of a man's figure. Leonora 
gave him the paper, with directions to hurry, 
and he went downstairs. 

" Now, that is better," she said, returning 
to the room. "While we wait you will eat 
something, will you not ? " 

" No, thank you," I replied. 

The food on the table was appetizing. 
There were piles of fresh sandwiches, a 
lobster salad, and other dainties ; but some- 
thing in the air of the place, something in 
the desolation of the dark house, for this 
was the only well-lighted room, something 
in the forlorn attitude of the young girl who 
stood before me, suspense in her eyes, anxiety 
round her lips, took away the faintest desire 
to eat 

If what the man upstairs said was true, his 
tortures must be fiendish. Leonora asked 
me again to eat — again I refused. 

" Will you open one of those bottles of 
champagne?" she said, suddenly. "I am 
faint, I must have a glass." 

I did her bidding, of course. She drank 
off about half a glass of the sparkling wine, 
and then turned to me with a little additional 

44 You are a good man," she said, suddenly. 
44 1 am sorry that we have so troubled you." 

44 That is nothing," I replied, " if I can be 
of benefit to your father. I should like to 
come here to-morrow and go carefully into 
his case." 

" And then you will tell me the truth, 
which you are concealing now ? " she answered. 

" If he gives me permission," I replied. 

44 Oh, I knew there was something which 
he would not tell," she retorted ; " he tries to 
deceive me. Won't you sit down? You 
must be tired standing." 

I seated myself on the first chair, and 
looked round the room. 

" This is a queer, old-fashioned sort of 
place," I said. u Have you lived here long ? " 

"Since my birth," she answered. 44 I am 
seventeen. I have lived here for seventeen 
years. Dr. Halifax?" 

44 Yes, what is it ? " 

44 Do you mind my leaving you alone ? I 
feel so restless, impatient, and nervous ; I 
will go to my father until the messenger 

" Certainly," I replied ; " and if he gets 

Digiiized by LiOOgle 

worse call to me, and I will come to you 
immediately ; he ought not to be left long 
alone. I am anxious to give him relief as 
speedily as possible. This injection of 
trinitrin will immediately do so. I hope 
your messenger will soon return from the 

44 He will be back presently. The chemist 
we employ happens to live* at a little distance. 
I will go upstairs now." 

44 Very well," I replied, u make use of me 
when you want me." 

She smiled, gave me a long glance with an 
expression on her face which I could not 
fathom, and softly closed the door behind 
her. It was a padded door, and made no 
sound as it closed. 

I sat down in an easy chair ; a very com- 
fortable one, with a deep seat. I shut my 
eyes, for I was really beginning to feel tired, 
and the hour was now past midnight. I 
sincerely hoped the servant would soon 
return with the medicine. I was interested 
in my strange patient, and anxious to put 
him out of his worst tortures as soon as 
possible. I saw, as in a picture, the relief 
which would sweep over Leonora Whitby's 
face when she saw her father sink into a 
natural slumber. 

She was evidently much attached to him, 
and yet he had treated her badly. His 
conduct in leaving her alone at the theatre, 
whatever his sufferings might have been, was 
scarcely what one would expect from a father 
to so young and lovely' a girl. He had 
deliberately exposed his own child to the 
chances of insult. Why had he done this ? 
Why, also, had he only feigned unconscious- 
ness ? How very unconventional, to say the 
least, was his mode of treating his child. He 
gave her to understand that he suffered from 
epileptic fits, whereas in reality his malady 
was angina pectoris. 

Here I started and uttered a sudden loud 

44 My God!" I said to myself. 44 The 
man cannot suffer from angina pectoris^ his 
symptoms do not point to it. What is the 
matter with him ? Did he feign the agony 
as well as the unconsciousness? He must 
have a monomania." 

I could scarcely believe that this was 
possible. I felt almost certain that his 
tortures were not assumed. That writhing 
at least was natural, and that death-like pallor 
could scarcely be put on at will. The case 
began to interest me in the strangest way. I 
heartily wished the servant to return in order 
to see some more of my most peculiar patient 




After a time in my restlessness I began to 
iace up and down the room. It was large, 
ofty, and covered from ceiling to floor with 
Dook-cases, which were all filled with bright, 
neat-looking volumes. Books generally give 
a cheerful aspect, but, for some reason which 
I could not account for at the time, these did 

I might look at one, however, to pass away 
the time, and I went up to a goodly edition 
of Dickens's works, intending to take down 
a volume of " Martin Chuzzlewit " to read 
I put my hand on the book, and tried to draw 
it out of the case. To my amazement, I 
found that this book and all 
its companions were merely 
dummies. In short, the room 
which looked so full of the 
best literature, was empty of 
even one line of respectable 

I sat down again in my 
chair. The supper on the table 
did not in the least tempt my 
appetite — the champagne could 
not allure me* There was a 
box of cigars lying temptingly 
nsar on the mantelpiece, but 
I was not disposed to smoke, 

I made up my mind that, 
if the servant delayed his return 
much longer, I would open the 
door, call to Miss Whitby, tell 
her that I would go myself to 
the chemist's, and bring the 
medicine which was necessary 
for my patient's relief. I felt 
that movement was becoming 
indispensable to me, for the 
gloom of the house, the queer 
ness of the whole of this ad- 
venture, were beginning at last 
to tell on my nerves. 

Suddenly, as I sat back in 
the depths of the easy chair, I became 
conscious of a very queer and peculiar 
smelL I started to my feet in alarm, 
and rushing to the nearest window, tried 
to open it + I discovered that it was a 
solid frame from bottom to top, and was 
not meant to move. In short, it was a 
window which could not open. I tried the 
other with similar results. Meanwhile, the 
smell got worse — it rose to my head, and 
rendered me giddy, 

What w T as the matter ? Had I been en- 
trapped into this place? Was my life in 
danger? Was there a fire in one of the rooms 
underneath ? Yes, this was probably the 

Digitized by G* 

solution of the enigma— a room had caught 
fire in the old house, and Leonora Whitby 
and her father knew nothing of it. I felt a 
passing sense of relief as this idea occurred 
to me, and staggered rather than walked to 
the door. The smell which affected me 
resembled the smell of fire, and yet there 
was a subtle difference. It was not caused 
by ordinary fire, 

I reached the door and turned the handle, 
I was gasping for breath now, and felt that I 
had not a moment to lose in getting into 
purer air I turned the ivory handle of the 
door frantically. It moved in my grasp — 


moved round and round, but did not open. 
In short, i was locked in — I was becoming 
asphyxiated, I felt my heart throbbing and 
my chest bound as by iron. 

At this desperate instant I saw, to my 
relief, an unexpected sight There was 
another door to the room. This door was 
evidently not meant to be noticed, for it was 
completely made up of the false books, and 
when shut could not be detected. I noticed 
it now, for it w*as slightly, very slightly, ajar. 
I rushed to it, flung it open, and entered 
another room. Then, indeed, my agony 
reached its climax. A man in evening dress 
was lying full length on the floor, absolutely 
Original from 




unconscious, and probably dead, I staggered 
towards him, and remembered nothing more, 

I came to myself, I do not know when — I 
do not know how, I was in a hansom. I 


was being driven rapidly through streets 
which were now almost deserted, in some 
direction, I knew not where, I could not 
recall at first what had occurred, but memory 
quickly returned to me, I saw the face of 
the dead man as he lay stretched on the floor. 
I saw once again that dreadful room, with its 
false books, its mockery of supper, its mockery 
of comfort. Above all things, I smelt once 
again that most horrible, suffocating odour, 

" Charcoal/' I muttered to myself. '* There 
must have been a charcoal furnace under the 
room, I was duped into that den. Leonora 
Whitby, beautiful as she appeared, was in 
league with her father to rob me and take 
my life j but how have I escaped ? Where 
am I now— where am I going ? How, in the 
name of all that is wonderful, have I got into 
this hansom ? " 

There was a brisk breeze blowing, and 
each moment my brain was becoming clearer. 

Digitized by G* 

The fumes of the charcoal were leaving me. 
I was vigorous and well — quite well, and with 
a keen memory of the past once again. I 
pushed my hand through the little window, 
and shouted to the driver to stop. 

" Where are you taking me ? " I 
asked. " How is it that I am here ? " 

He pulled up immediately, and drew 
his horse towards the pavement. The 
street was very quiet — it was a large 
thoroughfare — but the hour must have 
been nearly two in the morning. 

"Where are you taking me? IJ I 

"Home, sir, of course," replied the 
man, "I have your address, and it's 
all right. You sit quiet, sir," 

" No, I won't, until you tell me where 
you are taking me," I answered. " How 
did I get into this hansom? You can- 
not drive me home, for you do not 
know my address." 

4( Ain't it St John's Wood Avenue ? " 
replied the man. " The gent, he said 
so. He gave me your card — Mr. George 
Cobb, 19, St. John's Wood Avenue." 

" Nothing of the kind," I called back, 
in indignation, " My name is not Mr. 
George Cobb* Show me the card." 

The man fumbled in his breast- 
pocket, and presently pushed a dirty 
piece of paste-board through the window, 
I thrust it into my pocket 

l( And now tell me," I said, " how 
I got into this cab." 

" Well, sir," he replied, after a brief 
moment of hesitation, a I am glad 
you're better — lor, it isn't anything to 
fret about — it happens to many and many 
a gent You was dead drunk, and stretched 
on the pavement, sir, and an old gentleman 
with white 'air he come up and he looks at 
yer, and he shouts to me : — 

" ' Cabby/ says he, ' are you good for a 
job? 1 

11 1 Yes, sir,' I answers. 
u ' Well, then/ says he, * you take this young 
gentleman 'ome, He's drunk, and ef the 
police see him, they'll lock him up— but ef 
you get down and give me a f and, we'll get 
'im into your 'ansom— and this is where he 
lives- — at least, I suppose so, for this card 
was found on J im.' 

,( 'Right you air/ I says to the old gent, 
and between us we got you into the cab, and 
'ere we are now a-d riving back to St. John's 
Wood Avenue." 

"Cabby, I have been the victim of the 
most awful plot, and — and/' I continued, 




feeling in my pockets excitedly, " I have been 
robbed — I only wonder I have not been 

As I spoke I felt for my watch and chain — 
they had vanished. My valuable diamond 
ring, the motive, probably, of the whole 
horrible conspiracy, had been removed from 
my finger. My studs were gone, and what 
money I possessed— amounting, I am glad 
to say, to not more than £2 or ^3 — was no 
longer in my possession. The only wonder 
was why my life had been spared. 

" Drive to the nearest police-station. I 
must give information without a moment's 
delay," I said to the cabman. 

But that is the end of the adventure. Strange, 
incomprehensible as it may seem, from that 
day to this I have never solved the enigma 
of that dark house in that solitary square. 

West, very far west, it lies, truly; so far 
that the police, whom I instantly put on the 
alert, could never from that day to now 
obtain the slightest clue to its where- 

For aught that I can tell, Leonora Whitby 
and her father may be still pursuing their 
deadly work. 

When I read in the papers of sudden and 
mysterious disappearances I invariably think 
of them, and wonder if the experiences of 
the victim who has vanished from all his 
familiar haunts have been anything like 
mine — if he has waited, as I waited, in that 
terrible lethal chamber, with its false books 
and its padded doors — if he has tasted the 
tortures of asphyxia and stared death in the 
face, but unlike me has never returned from 
the Vale of the Shadow. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speakers Chair. 





IN the closing weeks of the 
Session the House of Lords 
enjoyed the unaccustomed privi- 
lege of knowing that the eyes of 
the country were fixed upon it At length, 
for a strictly limited time, the Lords have cut 
out the Commons. The period during which 
they have had the Home Rule Bill in charge 
has been brief compared with the long stretch 
of time during which they were as entirely 
ignored as if their existence had terminated. 
For weeks and months through the Session 
the House of Lords might easily, and more 
conveniently, have fulfilled all its legislative 
functions if it had met on the Monday and 
made holiday through the rest of the week. 

For the large majority 
of noble lords, whether 
the House is sitting or 
not is a matter of small 
consequence. If they 
have time and inclination 
they may look in on the 
way to the Park or club, 
or they may forbear. 
They have no respon- 
sibilities to meet, no 
constituencies jealouslv 
counting the number of 
divisions from which 
they are absent Indeed, 
there are very few 
divisions to take part 
in. When such an event 
occurs the House of 
I.ords is inclined, as 
Mr. Disraeli once irre- 
verently wrote, to cackle 
with content as a hen 
that has laid an egg. Still, there are the Lord 
Chancellor, the Ministers, and one or two ex- 
Ministers, not to mention the exhausted 
officials, who must needs be in their places 
if a sitting be appointed, and who would 
welcome an arrangement that would relieve 
them from an engagement that has not the 
value of utility to recommend it. Often it 
has come to pass that the Lord Chancellor 
in wig and gown, accompanied by Purse- 
bearer and Mace, with Black Rod on guard 



VoL vi.-33 + 

by K: 


at the Bar, has marched to the Woolsack, and 
having advanced a group of private Bills a 
formal stage r has marched back again, and so 
the House was " up," 

It would, however, never do to admit by 
adoption of such an arrangement as that 
suggested, that the country could get along 
without the House of Lords, Therefore it 
will sit, though it has no work to do, A 
few years ago, when things were particularly 
dull, it suddenly resolved that it would meet 
an hour earlier than heretofore, so as to be 
the better able to grapple with accumulation of 
work. Lord Sherbrooke, a new recruit to 
the Chamber, was so tickled with this, that 
he dropped into verse, which appeared 
anonymously in the 
Daily News : — 

As long as their lordships as* 

rem bled at five, 
They found they hat! nothing 

to keep them alive ; 
By wasting more time they 

expect to do more, 
So determine to meet at & 

quarter-past four. 

It was explained at 
the time that the new 
arrangement was made 
with a view to giving an 
opportunity to the 
younger peers to take 
part in debate. It is 
only in rare and ex- 
ceptional circumstances 
that noble lords will 
sacrifice their dinner 
on the altar of the 
State. It ordinarily re- 
quires a cry of either 
the Church or the Land in danger to keep 
them sitting after eight o'clock. Complaint 
was made that, meeting at five o'clock, nearly 
the whole of the time up to the adjournment 
was occupied by the front benches, or the 
Duke of Argyll, It was said if the House 
met an hour earlier young fellows like Lord 
Denman might have the chance of showing 
what metal they are made of. No 
notable change has been wrought in that 
direction consequent upon the new departure. 








Noble lords accustomed to 
speak before speak now with 
fuller frequency and more 
cer ta i n regular i t y , Fai ling that, 
their lordships get off to dinner 
an hour earlier. 

There are many 
reasons why the 
House of Lords is 
not a successful 
school of oratory. 
The first and not least im- 
portant is that it is an exceed- 
ingly difficult place in which to 
make oneself heard, When 
the new Houses of Parliament 
were opened, the Peers' 
Chamber was found to have 
in this respect a rival in the 
House of Commons* In the 
Commons then, as in the Lords now, the 
average human voice lost itself amidst 
the immensities of the roof. The Lords 
continue to suffer the inconvenience of 
lack of acoustical properties in their 
Chamber. In the Commons, where busi- 
ness really must be done, and is con- 
ducted viva voce 7 it was necessary to have a 
Chamber in which one man could hear 
another speak. After many devices and 
experiments the roof was lowered by a 
contrivance of glass, which served a double 
debt to pay. Through these sheets of glass 
falls the brilliant light that illumines the 
House of Commons, whilst it incloses a 
space by which the plan of ventilation 
is made practicable. 

Few members looking up at the glass 
roof, the unique and now most familiar 
adjunct of the House of Commons, are 
aware that it is an after-thought, and that it 
conceals a roof not less lofty or ornate than 
that in the House of Lords. The result has 
been to make the House of Commons one 
of the most perfect Chambers in the world 
for public speaking, the House of Ixjrds 
remaining one of the worst 

Whilst for the average member 
the House of Lords is a sepulchre 
of speech, it is a curious fact 
that, as far as I know, with- 
out exception, every man whom 
the House and the country desire to hear 
makes himself audible even in the Lords. 
When Mr. Disraeli left the Commons, there 
was much curiosity to learn whether Lord 
Heaconsfield could make himself heard 
amid his new surroundings. He succeeded, 
apparently without an effort, being heard in 

Digitized by GoOglC 






the Lords quite as well as 
he had been accustomed to 
make himself audible in the 
Commons. Earl Granville was 
heard in the Press Gallery, but 
only by dint of patient and 
painstaking endeavour. He 
literally *' spoke to the Gallery," 
more especially when, as a 
Minister, he had anything im- 
portant to communicate. At 
such times, unceremoniously 
turning his back on the Lord 
Chancellor seated on the Wool- 
sack, he faced the Press Gallery 
and spoke up to it. 

Lord Salisbury, with more 
sonorous voice, to this day 
observes the same attitude, 
standing sideways at the table 
and addressing the Gallery, This is his 
habit when making ordered speech. When 
he flings across the House some barbed 
arrow of wit, he leans both hands on 
the table, and personally addresses the 
peer who is, for the time, his target. 
Even then, happily, he is heard, and the 
strangers in the Gallery may share the delight 
of the peers at the brilliant coruscations 
that play across the table. When Lord 
Granville was still alive there was nothing 
more delightful than the occasional en- 
counters between himself and Lord Salis- 
bury. The Conservative Chief has plainly 
suffered by the withdrawal of this incentive 
to playful sarcasm. Lord Kimberley, with 
many admirable qualities, is not the kind of 
man to inspire liveliness in a political oppo- 
nent. Compared with the effect noticeable 




in the case of Lord Granville, the Earl of 
Kimberley in his influence upon Lord Salis- 
bury acts the part of a wet blanket. 

Happily Lord Granville has left 

lord behind him an inheritor of much 

rosebery. of his personal and oratorical 

charm, one, moreover, who has 
an equally happy effect in influencing Lord 
Salisbury, If the House of Lords were 
the House of Commons, and circumstances 
analogous to those taking place within the 
last two years had followed, I^ord Rosebery 
would t as a matter of course, have stepped 
into the shoes of Lord Granville* But the 
ways of the House of Lords are peculiarly 
its own ; and Lord Kimberley leads it 

of the gilded chamber. He apparently 
makes no particular effort, but manages to 
fill every recess with the music of his voice- 
So does the Duke of Argyll, but he is 


Lord Rosebery's style, whether in the 
House or in after - dinner speech, h 
closely akin to Lord Granville's in respect 
of grace and delicacy of touch. Where 
difference is marked is possibly found in the 
particulars that Lord Granville's style was 
the more polished and Lord Rosebery's is 
the more vigorous. Lord Granville played 
around the victim of his gentle humour, 
almost apologetically pinking him with 
poltshed rapier, Lord Rosebery will do that 
sometimes ; but, occasionally, as the late 
Lord Brabourne knew, he is capable of 
delivering a blow straight from the shoulder 
on the visage of a deserving object His 
oratorical style may be described as English, 
benefiting by application of French polish, 
Lord Granville's was French, with substratum 
of what we are pleased to regard as British 

Lord Rosebery is one of the few peers 
who make light of the ordinarily fatal effects 

Digitized by t^OOglC 


not without suspicion of uplifting his voice in 
unaristocratie shout. This is probably due 
to the fact that the MacCullum More, having 
all his life lived in association with the bag- 
pipes, has unconsciously caught the attitude, 
and is apparently under sore temptation to 
take the strut, of the player. When he 
addresses the Lords he throws back his head, 
inflates his chest, and slightly extends his 
right foot, an attitude that only wants the 
accessory of the bagpipes to make it com- 
pletely national. 

The late Lord Chancellor and the present 
occupant of the Woolsack have, in common, 
the advantage of making themselves heard in 
the House, As for Lord Bramwell, he has a 
voice that would be heard in a storm at sea* 
Lord Ashbourne, who used to be thought a 
little loud-voiced for the delicate arrangement 
of the House of Commons, is quite at home 
in the House of Lords. The Marquis of 
Waterford is another peer who under 
peculiar circumstances may be listened to 
without painful effort Owing to an accident 
in the hunting field the Marquis is disabled 
from standing, and has special permission to 
address the House seated. This he does 
with surprising vigour alike of voice and 
invective. Lord Dudley, one of the youngest 
peers, has excellent voice and delivery, the 
more fortunate in his case as he generally 
has something to say worth listening to. 
Lord Winchilsea and Nottingham is still 
another peer who commands the ear of the 
House. Original from 

*5 6 


There are probably other peers who 
possess natural gifts that cope with the 
difficulty that handicaps genius in the Lords; 
but no other names occur to me. 

The general run of oratorical 
dumb effort may be illustrated by two 

show. incidents that happened during 
the Session. One night in June 
Lord Breadalbane, wearing the uniform of 
the Lord Steward, and carrying the wand of 
office, appeared at the table and stood there 
for some moments- As the House sat atten- r 
live it began to be suspected in the Press 
Gallery that he was saying something, in all 
probability reading a reply from the Queen 
to an address presented by the House. 
What it might be was not conveyed 
by any audible sentence, It was neces- 
sary to have some record in the report, 
and a message was sent down to the Clerk 
of the Table asking if he could inform the 
reporters what was the nature of the Lord 
Steward's business. The Clerk sent back 
word that he was always anxious to oblige, 
but the lamentable fact was that though Lord 
Breadalbane had been standing at the table 
at which he sat, he had not heard a word of 
his message. 

That was possibly a calamity arising out of 
the natural modesty of an 
ingenuous young peer sud- 
denly finding himself thrust 
into a position of promi- 
nence. The other case 
more precisely illustrates the 
chronic difficulty hinted at 
In the course of a long de- 
bate in Committee on the 
Places of Worship (Sites) 
Bill, Lord Grimthorpe, stand- 
ing on his legs for ten 


minutes, was understood to 
be moving an amendment. 
Lord Helper, in charge of 
the Bill, opposed the amend- 
ment in a speech almost as 
inaudible. Lord Halsbury, 
whose observations at least 
have the merit of being 
audible, protested that lx>rd LORD H 

Belper had not properly ap- 
preciated the arguments of Lord Grimthorpe. 
ifc I could not hear him/ 1 said Lord Belper. 
J I must confess, my lords," said the ex-l^ord 
Chancellor, with his winning smile, a that I 
am not certain I myself correctly caught 
the drift of Lord Belper's remarks-" 

Happily for the welfare of the nation, this 
physical inability to follow the arguments of 

a debate does not preclude noble lords from 
giving their opinion thereupon by their 
vote in the Lobby. 

One result of the change in the 
hour of meeting sung by Lord 
Sherbrooke has been the aban- 
donment of a practice which 
led to occasional explosions. When the 
House of Lords began to meet at a quarter- 
past four, the House of Commons at that 
time not commencing public business till 
half-past four, it was possible, with an effort 
at agility, for Black Rod to reach the Com- 
mons, and summon them to a Royal Com- 
mission before questions had commenced. 
When the House of Commons advanced its 
time of meeting by an hour Black Rod in- 
evitably arrived, in discharge of his mission, 
at a time when questions w r ere in full swing, 

It is a reminder of old times that Black 
Rod, coming about the Sovereign's business, 
brooks no delay. It is true that, when 
watchful scouts in the Commons' Lobby 
breathlessly bring news that " Black Rod's 
a-coming," the doorkeeper leaves his chair, 
darts within the open doors, shuts and bolts 
them, and calmly awaits the consequences* 
Black Rod, coming up and finding the door 
thus unceremoniously closed in his face, raps 
upon it thrice with his stick. 
The doorkeeper, cautious to 
the last, instead of unbolting 
the door, opens a little spy- 
hole cunningly built above 
the sturdy lock. With a 
start of surprise he finds 
Black Rod standing there, 
demanding entrance in the 
name of the Queen, With- 
out more ado the door- 
keeper unlocks and unbolts, 
and, hastening within the 
glass door of the House 
itself, stands at the Bar and 
at the top of his voice pro- 
claims " Black Rod!" 

The inconvenience of 

this sudden incursion and 

interruption has been felt 

for centuries. It might have 

gone on to the end of time 

but for the accident that one afternoon the 

sudden cry "Black Rod!" broke in upon 

remarks Mr. Gladstone chanced to be 

making. There was under the ancient rules 

of the House no option to anyone. Black 

Rod must set forth for the Commons 

w T hen he receives the word of command 

from the House of I.ords. The doorkeeper, 




after peeping at him through the spy-hole* 
must straightway rush into the Commons 
and bellow " Black Rod ' n The gentleman 
on his feet, be he Premier or private mem- 
ber, must forthwith resume his seat. The 
course of business is peremptorily inter- 
rupted, whilst Mr Speaker, accompanied by 
the Mace and one forlorn member (usually 
the Home Secretary), 
trudges off to the Bar of 
the Lords to hear the 
Royal Assent given by 
Commission to a batch of 

The chance interruption 
of Mr, Gladstone had the 
effect upon the procedure 
which is hopefully looked 
for in respect of railway 
management when a 
director has been maimed 
in a collision. Angry 
protests were made by 
loyal Radicals, and the 
Speaker undertook tocom- 
municate with the 
authorities in the other 
House with a view of 
devising means whereby 
inconvenience might be 
averted* The suggestion 
made to the Lords was 
that they should so arrange 
matters that Black Rod 
should appear on his picturesque but not 
particularly practical mission at a time 
when he would not interrupt the course of 
public business. An effort was made to 
carry out this suggestion, but, the hours 
clashing, it was found impossible. The 
consequence has been that occasionally a 
Saturday sitting has been found necessary 
for the purpose of going through the 
performance of giving the Royal Assent to 

Whether Parliament might not, 
as Sir Walter Rarttelot used to 



say, tl e° 

ment, having agreed upon certain legislative 
measures, the Sovereign carefully considers 
them, and either gives consent or exercises 
the right of veto. In the good old days 
the King took an active part in the weekly, 
almost the daily, business of the House of 
Commons. Not only was the Session opened 
and closed by Majesty in person, but the 
Royal Assent was given 
or withheld by the King's 
own hand. Now, with 
rare exceptions at the 
opening of a Session, the 
functions of the Sovereign 
are performed by Com- 
missioners, the business 
degenerating into a form- 
ality which may be essen- 
tial, but is certainly not 

Several times in the 
course of a Session a 
Royal Commission sits. 
It consists of the Lord 
Chancellor and, usually, 
four other peers* They 
are dressed in the ermine- 
trimmed scarlet robes of 
a peer of Parliament, and 
are, as it is written in 
police-court reports, ac- 
commodated with a seat 
upon a bench set in front 
of the Woolsack. All 
being in readiness, Black Rod is bidden 
to request the appearance at the Bar of the 
House of the faithful Commc s. In the 
last days of the memorable Parliament of 
1874 the delivery of this message raised 
what threatened to be a grave Consti- 
tutional question. General Knollys was 
Black Rod at the time, and the jealous 
ear of Sir George Bowyer had detected on 
his part a lapse into unwarranted imperious* 
ness. Black Rod, having gained admittance 
to the House of Commons, in circumstances 
already described, approaches the table w4th 

one step 
farther," and get rid 
of the anachronism 
of the Royal Com- 
mission is, I suppose, 
a question for w f hich 
the time is not yet 
ripe. The assump- 
tion underlying the 
Constitution is that 
the Houses of Parlia- 


; or, CLOCtiMfrocllflfllfls. 


2 5 8 


measured step, thrice making obeisance to the 
Chair Arrived at the table, he should say, 
"The presence of members of this honourable 
House is desired to hear the Lords Com- 
missioners give their assent to certain Bills." 
Whether due to contempt for ordinary 
humanity born of daily contact with haughty 
nobles, or whether by pure accident, General 
Knollys had altered this formula, " requiring n 
instead of "desiring' 3 the company of the 
Commons at the Bar of the House of Lords, 
Sir George Bowyer, a type extinct in the 
present Parliament, solemnly called the at- 
tention of the Speaker to the matter, and the 
next rime Black Rod appeared all ears were 
cocked to catch his phrase, 

General Knollys was at this time an 
elderly warrior, not too certain on his pins. 
Beneath his carefully cultured hauteur he 
nurtured a great terror of the House of 
Commons, which used to pretend fiercely to 
resent his entrances, and ironically cheered 
his painstaking exit backwards. This was 
his last mission to the Parliament of 1874. 
Its turbulent life was measured by a few 
gasps. When the Speaker obeyed the 
summons and stood at the Bar of the House 
of Lords to hear the prorogation read, all 
would be over. General Knollys might with 
impunity have flouted the moribund House, 
and avenged a long series of insults by rasping 
out the objectionable word "required." A 
swift retreat and a flight across the Lobby 
would have landed him in the sanctuary of 
his box in the House of Lords, The < General 
was, happily, of a generous mind, End, 
meekly "des'ring" the presence of members 
in the other House, what might have been 
an interesting scene passed off quietly. 

When the Speaker, accompanied 
a solemn by the Serjeant-at-Arms bearing 

farck the Mace, and escorted by a 
number of members who rarely 
exceed a dozen, reaches the Bar of the 
House of Lords, the five cloaked figures 
on the bench before the Woolsack thrice 
uplift their cocked hats. This is designed 
as a salutation to the Speaker, Simul- 
taneously the Clerk of Parliament, quitting 
his seat at the end of the table, advances 
midway adown its length. Halting, he 
produces a large document bearing many 
seals. This is the Royal Commission 
appointing " our trusted and well-beloved 
councillors " to act for the Sovereign in the 
matter of signifying Royal Assent to certain 
Bills. When the Clerk of Parliament comes 
upon a name in the catalogue of Com- 
missioners, he stops, turns half to the 

Digitized by t*t 

right and bows low to the red-cloaked figures 
on the bench. At this signal a hand 
appears from under the folds of one of the 
cloaks, and a cocked hat is uplifted. The 
process is repeated at the recital of each 
name, till the Royal Commissioners have 
been numbered off. 


This formality completed, another clerk in 
wig and gown steps forth and takes a position 
on the left-hand side of the table facing the 
Lords Commissioners. He is known as the 
Clerk of the Crown, and it is his mission 
vocally to signify the Royal Assent. At this 
stage the performance becomes irresistibly 
comic. On the table by the Clerk of 
Parliament is a pile of documents. These 
are the Bills which have passed both Houses 
and now await the Royal Assent. Taking one 
in his hand, the clerk on the right-hand side of 
the table turns to face the cloaked figures, to 
whom he bows low. The clerk on the left- 
band side of the table simultaneously per- 
forms a similar gesture. The two clerks then 
wheel about till they face each other across 
the table. The Clerk of Parliament reads 
the title of the Bill, the Clerk of the Crown 
responding, in sepulchral voice, u La Reyne 
k veult" Both clerks wheel round to face the 
Lords Commissioners, to whom they again 
make a profound bow. Then they face about, 
the Clerk of Parliament takes up another docu- 
ment, reads out a fresh title, and the Clerk 
of the Crown, with deepening sadness as the 
moments pass, chants his melancholy refrain, 
4i La Reyne k vtult" 

Nothing more is said or done till the 
batch of Bills is exhausted and the clerks 
return to their seats. The cloaked figures 



2 59 

then raise their cocked hats to the Speaker, 
who gravely inclines his head and gets back 
to the work-a<lay world, whose business has 
been interrupted in order that this lugubrious 
farce might be accomplished. 

There is no harm in this, and as the Lords 
through the greater part of the Session have 
not much else to do> it would be unkind to 
make an end of it* But it would appear 
that it is scarcely the sort of thing on account 
of which the serious business of the nation, 
going forward in the House of Commons, 
should be rudely and peremptorily interrupted. 
During a Session that has 

a dire almost exclusively been given up 
dilemma, to debate on the Home Rule 
Bill, the House of 
Commons has fully justified its 
reputation as the most enter- 
taining theatre within the 
Metropolitan area. Amid a 
long series of exciting scenes 
and swift surprises, nothing 
exceeds in dramatic quality 
the episode when Mr* John 
Dillon " remembered Mitchels- 
town " nine months and four 
days before that historic event 
had happened. It was Mn 
Chamberlain who played up 
to this scene, as he was per- 
sonally responsible for many 
others that stirred the passions 
of the House to their deepest 

When the question of trans- 
ferring the control of the police 
to the proposed Irish Legis- 
lature was under discussion, 
Mr, Chamberlain argued that 
the body of men who would 
probably form the majority in the new legis- 
lature were not to be trusted with control of 
the liberty and property of the community. 
In support of this contention he cited a 
speech delivered by Mr, Dillon at Castle- 
rea, in which the member for East Mayo 
was reported to have said that when the 
Irish Parliament was constituted, they would 
have the control of things in Ireland, and 
" would remember " the police, sheriffs, 
the bailiffs, and others who had shown them- 
selves enemies of the people. 

This effective attack was made in a crowded 
and excited House, that awaited with interest 
Mr. Dillon's rejoinder. It was made in 
immediately effective style. Mr. Dillon did 
not defend the threat cited, but urged that it 
had been uttered in circumstances of cruel 

Digitized by OOOQlC 


provocation, A short time earlier, the mas- 
sacre at Mitchelstown had taken place. He 
had seen three innocent men shot down by 
the police in cold blood. "That recollec- 
tion/' he emphatically said, "was hot in my 
mind when 1 spoke at Castlerea." 

l r or ten minutes longer Mr, Dillon went 
on. At the end of that time the House 
observed that Mr, Sexton, who sat next to 
his colleague, handed him a scrap of paper. 
That is by no means an unusual occur- 
rence in debate in the House of 
Commons. A member having a case 
to state or reply to forgets a detail and 
has it brought to his mind by watchful 
friends* Mr. Dillon took the paper and 
closely read it, still slowly pro- 
ceeding with the incompleted 
sentence on which he had 
embarked when the interrup- 
tion presented itself. Members 
listened with quickened atten- 
tion to what followed, curious 
to know what was the point 
overlooked, and now to be 
introduced into the speech. 
It was not readily discernible 
in the conclusion of the 
speech, which Mr. Dillon ac- 
complished without sign of 
hesitation or perturbation. 

Yet the scrap of 
the scrap paper, unflinch- 
of paper, ingly read, con- 
veyed one of the 
most terrible messages ever 
received by a prominent public 
man addressing the House of 
7*^1 Commons, On it was written : 

** Your speech delivered jtA 
December, 1886. Mikkehiown 
affair, p/A September, f88f." 

Mr. Dillon had suffered one of the most 
curious and, in the circumstances, most damag- 
ing lapses of memory that ever afflicted a man 
in the House of Commons, An English 
member might have done it with comparative 
impunity. It would have seemed strange and 
wouldj for a long time, have been hurtful 
to his reputation for accuracy. At least, his 
hona-fides would have remained unchallenged. 
There would have been no accusation of 
attempting to " palm off J ' a false statement 
on an unsuspicious House. With John 
Dillon the case was different Looking across 
the floor of the House, he could see Mr. 
Chamberlain, his keen face lighted up, his 
hands on the corner of the bench ready 
to spring up the moment he resumed his 





seat. He knew now what had been the 
meaning of Mr* T. W. Russell's hasty rush 
from the House towards the Library, and 
his jubilant return with another scrap of 
paper. They had detected his blunder, and 

he was able to estimate what measure of 
charitable construction it was likely to 
receive from that quarter. 

He was still in possession of the House, 
and had the next turn of the game in his 
hands, How should he play it ? Either he 
might at once admit his blunder, make such 
apology and explanation as was possible, and, 
at least, forestall the plainly contemplated 
action of Mr, Chamberlain : or he might go 
on to the end, take his beating at the hands 
of the jubilant enemy, and thereafter endea- 
vour to put himself right with the House 
and the country. 

As everyone knows, Mr. Dillon, rightly or 
wrongly regarded as a matter of tactics, 
adopted the latter plan. But decision had 
to be taken as he stood there, the scrap of 
paper scorching his hand, the necessity of 
continuing and connecting his sentences 
imperative, the crowded House looking on. 
It was about as bad a five minutes as ever 
fell to the lot of a man actually off the rack, 
and was gone through with marvellous self- 

T, w w kussbll's hush. 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives, 

the proposed new cathedral. In December, 
1882, at Mr, Gladstone's recommendation, 
he was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury 

t IXLgHtrr&AMic 

Born 1829, 

' ^tllfl 

Archbishop of Canterbury, born 
near Birmingham, and educated 
there and 

at Trinity College, 
Cambridge, of which 
he became scholar and 
fellow, was for some 
years an assistant - 
master at Rugby, and 
was a ppoi n ted fi rst 
head-master of Wel- 
lington College in 
1858, continuing to 
hold the position till 
1872, when he became 
Chancellor of Lincoln 
Cathedral. Toward* 
the end of 1876, at 
the r ecom m en da t i .0 n 
of Lord Beaconsfieldj 
he was appointed to 
the newly - created 
Bishopric of Truro, 
where he displayed 
great energy of organ- 
ization, and in collect- 
ing subscriptions for 

Vol. vi. -34. 

Prvmu Photo. by\ 


by Ooogle 

Original from 

AGE 40. 

Fr&m a Photo, Ay Mayall, 

after the death of 
Dr. Tait He has 
published several 
volumes of sermons 
preached in Welling- 
ton College and 
elsewhere. His 
ecclesiastical policy 
has been marked 
rather by energy of 
social reform and 
general conciliation 
than by controversial 
theology 3 the Arch- 
bishop being him- 
self attached to 
the Liberal High- 
Church party. 



AGE 31. 





Born 1825. 

RC, Duke of West^ 
minster, who has the 
enviable reputation of 
being the richest man in England, 
was educated at Eton and at Bolliol 
College, Oxford At the age at which 
our first portrait shows him he was 
sitting as Liberal member for Chester, 
which he continued to do until, 
on the death of his 
1869, he succeeded to 
the title of Marquis of 
Westminster, being five 
years later raised to the 
Dukedom. He married 
in 1852 i^dy Constance 
Gertrude Leveson- 
Gower, youngest daugh- 
ter o f the D u k e of Sut her - 
land, and to his eldest 
son, Earl Grosvenor, 
who was born a year 
later, the Queen in per- 
son stood sponsor The 
Duke married for a 
second time, in 1883, the 
Hon, Katherine Caro- 
line Cavendish, daughter 
of Lord Chesham* He 
was Master of the Horse 
from 1880 to 1885 ; is 
Lieut. - Colonel of the *>„.„ a i*k*#>. m 

FmmVi* Fainttn^ by) 

ACE 47. [Su-JokKMtIl4iVt r h.A- 

Queen's Westm inster 
Rifle Volunteers ; and 
nl so Supernumerary 
A.D.C. to the Volunteer- 
ing Forces, with the rank 
of colonel. The house 
of Grosvenor is one 
of the oldest in the 
kingdom, and is stated 
to have flourished in 
Normandy for a century 
and a half before the 
Conquest, and to have 
held the high and power- 
ful office in that princi- 
pality of Le Grovtmur. 
The founde r of the 
English Grosvenors, 
Gilbert Le Grosvenor, 
came over in the train 
of William the Con- 



Frum rt] 

A. J, WEB BE. 

Born 1855, 
R. A. J. WEB BE, the well-known 
Middlesex cricketer, was bom in 
London, and educated at Harrow 
and Oxford. For three years, 
1872 to 1874, he was conspicuous 

in the School Eleven, and in the latter year 
he scored 77 and 80 against Eton ; and in the 
University match, 1875, he made a catch that 
will never be forgotten by those who saw it 

age j a. 

Ffvm a Photo* by HUlt dir JSaunderi, Harrow, 

Mr, Webbe has played continuously for Mid- 
dlesex, and his stubborn and watchful defence, 

a Photo, bit Hyjinah <t Keni, Brighton^ 

Frvnm Phvfa b»\ PRESENT DA V. [Barraud, London* 

and particularly strong power of cutting, have 
been of invaluable service to ttie county* 




Born 1850. 

3|J^ % SON is the son of Mr. Thomas 
!>V^Ti \ Stevenson, the celebrated light- 
fe^^^Lfc house engineer, and was born at 
Edinburgh. The book which 
established his reputation was "Treasure 
Island," published in 1883. "Dr. Jekyll 
and Mr, Hyde," published in 1888, is per- 
haps his most popular work. Mr. Stevenson 
has taken up his residence in Samoa, and we 

Fwna Photo* fiyj 

AGE 25. 

\ A if ton, KdudmrptL 

are enabled to give an illustration of the room 
in which he writes his delightful hooks. 

/Vun a FAvti), b&] a Lit 7. l/t&w, &tit*ovroh. 

ai Originafflfdfh 




by Google 

Original from 



From u] 

Ai.I, 7. 


Born 1850. 

R.A., sculptor, the son of dis- 
tinguished sculptors, was born 
in London, and educated at 
M accles fi e I d ( J r a m ma r School 
and University College School, London. He 
studied art at the Royal Academy School, and 
in the Elgin Room at the British Museum, 

Prow a\ 

MA-: i& 


1876 Mr. Thorny croft was well represented 
by " A Warrior Bearing a Wounded Youth 
from the Field of Battle," which had won the 
gold medal of the council in the previous 
year. In 1877 came the notable "Lot's 
Wife "; and " Stepping Stones," an early work, 
only then executed in marble in 1879. 
" Artemis," and a statuette, * fc A Youth Putting 

and in December, 1870, bore off the silver 
medal in the antique sdiool. He first came 
before the public in the Royal Academy 
exhibition of 187 1 with a bust of the late 
Dr. Sharpey, Professor of Physiology at 
University College. In the same year he 
visited Italy. During 1872 he was aiding his 
father on the Park I,ane fountain* A bronze 
statuette of Lord Mayo was his most notable 
production in 1874. In the Academy of 

from a Drawing by} 

age 33* 

Infinite Wi*VttUU^ 

the Stone" {1880), were fine examples of the 
imaginative side of art, and deservedly gained 
for their author the associateship of the 
Royal Academy in January, 1881. For a full 
account of Mr. Thornycroft's life and works 
we will refer the reader to the Illustrated 
Interview in the present number. 

— — > i gira r-frQftt 

f frttit a 


LJtau£ £ /(*t 

Illustrated Interviews. 


T requires but little apology for 
once again resorting to the 
immediate neighbourhood of 
West Kensington. There is 
no thoroughfare in London 
more inviting to those in search 
of all that is interesting, all that is instructive, 
than the Melbury Road. To think of stand- 
ing in a garden and being able to throw 
stones— carefully, of course— on to the green 
lawns of Sir Frederick I -eight on, Mr, Val 
Prinsep, R*A«, Mr. Watts, R,A., Mr. Marcus 
Stone, R.A,, and Mr. Colin Hunter, A*R.A., 
whilst, from the roof of this particular 
house, those gifted in aiming straight 
might pitch a pebble amongst the bushes 
belonging to Mr, Burgess, R, A, and Mr. Luke 
lildes, R.A. I have before now referred 
to the love which the birds appear to 
have for this delightful neighbourhood. 
If there were any mystery at all as to why 
our feathered friends have singled out this 
spot, I have dis- 
covered the true 
solution* Hamo 
cares for them. 
He fed them on 
the summer 
morning I met 
him, and he will 
remember their 
wants in the days 
of winter. He 
knows them, and 
believes they 
know him, the 
result of giving 
them proper food 
and not only the 
stray bits, which 
sometimes make 
it convenient to 
be kind. Even 
41 Corky," the cat, 
who is snoozing 
under the mul- 
berry tree which 
its owner planted 
seventeen years 
ago, would not 
harm a feather 
of one of them- 

And that is something to say for "Corky," 
for it is on record that she has leaped 
over Mr. Watts's wall and made for Marcus 
Stone's larder, and annexed a partridge, to 
say nothing of helping herself to Val Prinsep's 
pigeons ! 

The love which Hamo Thornycroft has for 
all things which Nature has given us was a 
gift to him on his very first birthday. 
This love tells with a man, and has 
moulded his ruling characteristics to what 
they are to-day* I have seldom met a 
man freer from what may be plainly 
written down as egotism than the eminent 
sculptor. Rapid success is frequently fraught 
with that which spoils those on whom it falls. 
But not so here. Of medium height, strong 
and well set, with fair, curly hair, ^nd eyes 
that almost speak, he impresses one as a man 
who does not stay his kindness at the birds. 
He speaks very quietly and very quickly, and 
believes in hard work. He is always in his 

studio at half- 
past eight, and 
ha~», before now, 
h* Id on to his 
mallet until two 
the next morn- 
ing. A man who 
puts in eighty 
hours a week — 
as he has done 
just before the 
Academy — is not 
afraid of work- 
But, then, his 
heart is in every 
block of marble 
he touches. His 
work, too, in the 
is by no means 
small, for it falls 
to the lot of Royal 
Academicians to 
devote two hours 
every evening for 
two months of 
the year to the 
Academy stu- 
dents. He finds 
recreation in 

From a PAwto, Iwl 


cHi$r swa> " He 



is an expert amateur photographer ; he rows 
and cycles Together with his wife he has 
practically made a grand tour of England, 
Scotland, and Wales; whilst as a grouse 
shot he is thoroughly skilful 

"You shake hands like a sculptor/' he 
said when I met him. 

" Why?" I 

" You grip, If 
a man cants 
it tends to 
strengthen the 
gripping muscles 
both in holding 
the chisel and 
hammer. I used 
to do a good deal 
of caning in my 
early days — a very 
essential thing for 
the sculptor, he 
cause it accus- 
toms you to the 
possibilities of 
your material. 
Foley had a great 
grip when shak- 
ing hands. He 
had a hand of 
ex traordinary 
size, and it is all 
the more remark- 
able when you 
remember how 
wonderfully com- 
plete his work 
always was, as 
witness his mag- 
nificent equestrian statue of Sir James 
Outram fur India. I always quote that when 
committees try to hurry me with my work- 
Foley took seven years to complete it 

"Foley, by-the-bye, was a very bad shot 
He was a great friend of my father's, and I well 
remember one day they were out shooting, 
when a vent' easy bird rose. Foley fired and 
-missed He missed again — and at last the 
old pointer turned round, looked up at him 
with a positive look of disgust, and walked 
away. The very ne\t bird that rose the dog 
had it and practically killed it with anger* 

" Boehm had a nervous, delicate hand- My 
mother's hand, too, i> very beautiful. Now, 
shall we walk through ? n 

The house proper — unmistaltably nine- 
teenth century in its design, which was archi- 
lectured by John Belcher from plans by its 
owner— contains numberless tokens .of the 

skill of the Thorny crofts as an artistic family 
both in the way of pictures and sculpture. 
The dining-room looks on to the Melbury 
Road. Here in a corner is the first 
bust executed by the Royal Academician. 
It is of his sister, Portraits of his grand- 
father, John Francis Thomycroft, and of 

his maternal 
grandmother are 
on either side of 
a canvas by John 
Cross of his father 
and eldest brother 
John* who is 
happily known 
as "Torpedo 
owing to the suc- 
cess which has 
crowned his skill 
as a maker ot 
torpedo boats. 
Mr Thorny croft's 
father was an 
excellent en- 
gineer, and to- 
wards the end of 
his days practi- 
cally forsook 
sculpture and 
spent most of his 
time with his son 
at his torpedo 
works at Chis- 
wiclc It is in- 
teresting to note 
that the skill of 
father and son 
was put into the 
building of the first launch that actually kept 
up with the 'Varsity crews. The *1 autilus was 
fort)' feet long, and was built in Mr. Thorny 
croft senior's studio in 1 860. 

A picture by T. B. Wlfgman of the 
sculptors mother hangs over the fire-place- 
She is painted in the act of modelling the 
Princess I^ouise (Duchess of Fife) as a child* 
with her pet dog Rover by her side* Here, 
too, is a clever drawing of his paternal 
grandmother— a North Country woman, a 
great Puritan, and never tired of dilating 
upon the wickedness of sculpture, as it tended 
to be Popish ! A couple of drawings by 
Alfred Stevens — for whom their possessor has 
an intense admiration — are pointed out as 
being the work of a remarkable man whose 
drawings approached Raphael nearer than all 
his fellows. A Michael Angel o is also here^ 
together wit©rigniitals|»iJaimig photos of works 




brxuu ffcj Paint in fj\ Mr. tHONNVCKOFT's AlOTHEK. \b* T* It. WtrffniiiH, 

by Saint Gaudens, the great American sculptor, 
the only reminiscence of these particular 
subjects which were destroyed by fire at 
New York. The 
first sketch for 
" The Mower " is 
on the mantel- 

The hall is given 
up to many pic- 
tures by Miss 
Helen Thorny- 
croft, a very bril- 
liant painter of 
flowers in general 
and orchids in par- 
ticular. A reminder 
of Mr. Thorny- 
croft J s old Volun- 
teering days in the 
shape of a draw- 
ing by Wirgman 
is looked at : the 
Artists' Corps, 
indeed, for 
amongst the crowd 
may l*e singled out 

Vol vi + -36- 

Sir Frederick Leigh ton, Ouless, 
Forbes Robertson, Cotman, Vai 
Prinsep, A. S. Coke, Stacy Marks, 
Brock, P. R, Morris, Ha mo Thorny- 
croft, and many more— the sight of 
which reminds Mr, Thorny croft 
that he and Sir Frederick had 
the biggest heads in the corps, 
and there was always a great diffi- 
culty in getting the regulation 
helmets to fit. . 

Every picture on the walls, every 
work of art scattered about in the 
drawing-room, has its own peculiar 
interest, but one is naturally drawn 
towards the family hearth. It is a 
remarkable hearth. Each tile bears 
the features of a member of the 
family. This is the handiwork of 
Miss Helen Thomyeroft, 

"That water- colour," said Mr. 

Thomyeroft, "is by (\ D. Leslie, and 

is somewhat interesting, We were 

up the Thames in my brother's 

launch one day, and a number of us 

started out into the country, to return 

in two hours with a sketch. Leslie's 

was voted the best, and he was 

good enough to give it to me. Leslie 

used to frequent the Thames very 

much for painting, and I remember 

seeing him rescue one of his pictures 

from going under a mill at great risk to 

himself His jokes were as great as they 

were artistic." 






JHiu a Ftvjto, 6 + i 

THfc tiALLEkV. 

[Eltioti tt fff. 

Then came the story of the murder on the 

A lady used to pose to I^slic up the 
riven It seems that the moths ruined her 
dress, and Leslie suggested she should get 
into the water with her dress on, and, with the 
help of the boat-hook, have a good scour s 
with the view of getting rid of the dress-de- 
stroyers, The lady offered no objection, In she 
went Some passers-by seeing the incident 
were alarmed, and shouted " Murder/' and as 
the artist persisted in keeping the lady down 
with the boat-hook, some of the more practical 
onlookers rushed for a policeman. The 
constable arrived and shouted, but Leslie only 
hit her the more. A boat was rowed out ; 
one man took off his coat and prepared to 
swim, but when the constable rescued from 
the water a lay -figure, I^eslie most politely 
thanked him for his ready help, and the 
representative of the majesty of the law 
nearly fainted ! 

We entered the gallery. 

This is a grand space given up to models 
of works executed either in marble or bronze, 
with one or two examples in marble com- 
plete. In a corner stands " Artemis, n and 
opposite is " Lot's Wife,'' impressively still 
and cold. u The Teucer " looks dignified, and 
" A Warrior Carrying a Wounded Youth " 
is treasured, for it won its modeller the gold 
medal in his student days. "April," "Sir 
Arthur Cotton," "The Mower," "The 
Sower," "John Bright," "General Gordon," 
" Medea, w "Putting the Stone," and the 

late Professor Owen 
are all here. 

We stood before 
each one, and each 
suggested its story, 
"'Artemis,"' said 
the sculptor, "was 
11 fortunate statue 
for me, I had a 
most excellent 
model, an Italian 
girl whose grace 
was perfect, one of 
the best models I 
have ever had. 
She was not as 
romantic, though, 
as the being she 
posed for, for she 
married an itinerant 
vendor of ice 
cream* You notice 
the hound. I was 
at my wits' end 
where to get the dog I wanted. Early 
one morning my sister was out, when 
she saw a wiry-haired greyhound being 
chased by boys, She took it under her 
protection and brought it home. That 
is the dog in the statue. I kept it, and 
curiously enough it died the very day the 
statue was completed It lies buried in the 
garden* * Lot's Wife ' was, I think, the first 
large statue exhibited in the Royal Academy 
This is the original* It w T as suggested to 
me by seeing a huge straight boulder standing 
alone and weird on a sea-shore early one morn- 
ing. 'The Teucer * was modelled from three 
men. The figure proper was from an Italian, 
the arms were from a man in the studio, and 
the head is that of a gipsy I foui*d The 
Italian looked a shambling fellow with his 
clothes on, but, when undressed — well, I 
have seldom seen a finer physique." 

The "Warrior and Youth " brought back 
pleasant recollections. It reminded its 
creator of his early student days — the little 
supper party which always comes with the 
award of the gold medal — the students' 
meal originally inaugurated by Flaxman one 
night in expectation of his winning the much- 
coveted award. He didn't get it, but he 
gave the supper just the same! And Mr. 
Thomycroft remembered how' he could not 
get on his legs to make the customary 
speech, and how Henry Stacy Marks— an 
old student — helped him out of his dilemma, 
and spoke out with all his heart on his 




f>UHW a /'Aflfo hy\ 


J El iiitt rf i-Vjr r 

What a grand sitter Professor Owen was ! 

"1 got my impression of him,* continued 
the sculptor^ as we looked on the almost 
smiling face, " by seeing him sitting on the 
vertebrae of a whale, which was made into a 
garden seat, on the borders of Richmond 
Park. It was so natural I remember telling 
him one day about the birds in my garden, 
and he said : — 

" 'England is richer in birds than in any 
other branch of natural history.' 

" So intense was his love for animals that he 
had his bed almost as high as the ceiling, and 
had to mount a small pair of steps in order 
to reach it I asked him the reason for this, 

" * Oh, it is very simple ! ' he replied ' I 
have had it built so that I can look out on 
to Richmond Park and see the deer in the 
early dawn* They behave so differently at 
four o'clock in the morning, when no one is 
near to disturb them.' 

" Yes, that is - The Mower.' It was the first 
work of the more realistic school I attempted 
after so much of the classical. It was 
suggested by a very simple incident, I was 
on the Thames, and on the bank I saw a man 
just like the statue looking at everything 
passing along the river, I made the sketch 
at once, and this is the result." 

The gallery is continued in a second 
apartment — this further room is also given 
up to many examples of his mother's 
skilful workmanship, intermixed with pic- 
tures by the family. There are also 
engravings <if many nf the Presidents 

of the Academy. 
A portrait of the 
late Vicat Cole 
hangs just by a 
fine iew of the 
Forth Bridge, and 
1 listened to a 
strange little inci- 
dent, of which 
perhaps those 
Kuperstitiously in- 
clined will make 
much. It has been 
Mr, Thornycroffs 
lot to dine lately 
at tables where 
thirteen have sat 
down. The last 
occasion was at 
Sir Frederick 
Leighton ? s. Vicat 
Cole was present. 
He unceremoni- 
ously rose from 
the table, crossed to his host, and whispered 
something in his ear. Shortly after he died I 

From amongst the plaster models in the 
corner, one quaint and curious object stands 
out. It is under a glass case and made of 
jet. Carefully and almost reverently the 
sculptor lifts it down. He looked at it and 
then at nie, as though waiting. 

"It is a model of Nelson's funeral car in 
the crypt of St Paul's ! " I exclaimed. 

t( Yes," he said, " and the beginning of our 
family as sculptors. My grandfather went 
to see Nelson's funeral. The wonderful car 
impressed him. As soon as he returned to 
Norfolk he went along the sea-shore, picked 
up the jet, and carved this. Mr. Wrnon 
saw it, and immediately sent him to ( hantreys 
studio/ 1 

We left the gallery, walking down a glass- 
inclosed passage brimming over with flowers, 
and just looked into the garden to see how 
the mulberries were ripening and whether the 
pears were making good progress, A rose 
tree was blooming over the grave of Artemis's 
dog. We could just get a glimpse of the 
roof of Sir Frederick Leighton's wonderful 
Arabian Hall. "Corky " was sitting on the 
wall and positively blinking at Mr, Marcus 
Stone, who was just then walking in his 
garden. Marcus Stone is passionately fond of 
cats, and is jealous of " Corky " ! "Corky/* 
however, prefers to appropriate his partridges. 
Here is the great turn-table on which the 
statues are placed, in order that their creator 
may "consider' 5 them under various atmo 




fr'rtrtn a Phata. be M^ Thtimycrafl. 

spheric conditions. It is worked by means of 
hydraulics, and can he raised fourteen feet 
It runs in and out of the studio on metal 
lines. Then we enter the studio — the 
workshop of the man who has done much to 
popularize sculpture whilst retaining all the 
pure beauty of which the art is typical. 
There are really three or four studios. 

The first of these is a private studio, 
The horse-shoe over the door silently testifies 
li Good Luck/' The centre is just now occu- 
pied by a colossal 
statue of the late 
Lord Granville 
intended for the 
House of Com- 
mons. It is now 
in the clay. By its 
side, on a smaller 
turn-table, is the 
tiny sketch model 
— about twelve 
inches high — in 
green wax, and the 
quarter-size model 
in plaster of the 
finished work. 
Both of these are 
made by the sculp- 
tor, from which his 
pupils and assis- 
tants build up the 
statue in clay to 
its full size. Again 
the master-hand is 

employed, and from this it is either copied 
into marble or cast in bronze. 

There is much about this studio to 
examine. The mantel-shelf provides a resting- 
place for what might be called the sculptor's 
treasures. Here in the centre is the Oxford 
Fragment, a bust probably of Demeter of about 
500 B.C., the marble of which was found m a 
cellar — thrown aside as useless — by Watts and 
Ruskin, at Oxford But its breast heaves to 
all who love art, and it can only be placed 
second to the Venus of Milo. There are 
many more fragments of Greek art here, and 
a sketch model by Alfred Stevens of one of 
the figures on the Wellington monument in 
St. Paul's, a work considered by Mr Thorny - 
croft to be one of the finest in Europe. 
Sketch models for all the sculptor's principal 
works are scattered about— works by his 
grandfather, father, and mother are by no 
means absent The old red flag which 
surmounts a very dusty-looking helmet is 
no relic of war's alarms. The helmet is that 
worn by its owner when a Volunteer, and the 
flag once decorated his father's yacht. 

In an adjoining studio— the carving studio 
— a pupil is working upon a fine statue 
which is to be placed in the inner court of 
the Royal Exchange. The model for this is 
considered a il find/* for the girl who is 
posing for it possesses a face singularly like 
Her Majesty's at the time of the coronation. 
The association between pigeons' wings and 
those of angels is very, very distant, but those 
lying on a slab played a useful part in 


[hllioti d: Frit. 


5 73 

realizing the wings of two angels which form 
part of a very elaborate monument just 
completed, A recumbent figure of the late 
Bishop Goodwin of Carlisle is just now in 
process of being modelled, and another of 
Dr. Thompson, the late Archbishop of York. 
On a ledge rest a score of photos of Bishop 
Good win, but the sculptor was unable to 
obtain one which conveyed any useful idea 
as to what the hands were like. The cast of 
hands in a prayerful attitude which is 
shown to me are those of Miss Goodwin, 
whose own hands resemble those of her 
reverend father in a remarkable way. The 

the hat particularly, as it is an excellent 
guide to the size of a man's head, 

An amusing though creepy little story is 
told. A few days ago the model for the 
late Bishop was lying clothed in the episcopal 
robes. It was growing dusk, A new assistant, 
whilst walking through, was surprised to see 
the model raise his head and ask what time 
it was. The man ran for his life. 

" Are monuments as popular to-day as 
ever ? " I asked. 

"Yes/ 1 Mr. Thornycroft said; "I think 
so* I find that many people are anxious to 
have a monument erected at once, but the 

From a FKoto^ b»] 


{kltwttii- *'r V , 

little angels which surround the head of the 
slumbering Bishop were modelled from Mr. 
Thorny croft's own children. 

The model who has been "sitting" for 
I>r. Thompson has only just left He is 
5ft. nin. ; Dr. Thompson was 6ft. 2in. ; but 
the sculptor will easily make the difference of 
three inches in his modelling, A strange, 
weird feeling comes over one as you note 
beside the Bishop's figure his familiar gown 
with lawn sleeves, his boots, his hat, even his 
collar. But the sculptor is provided with 
every item of clothing when it is possible — 

wish often dies away. Woollier one day had 
a weeping widow come to him to make a 
monument of her husband. Woolner agreed* 
and set to work. The design was made and 
approved. Soon after she came and said she 
thought this decorative figure might be left 
out ; later on she desired that figure omitted, 
and at last she suggested that the whole 
thing might be postponed for the present. 
She was married again ! Rut she paid the 
bill readily enough when it was sent in." 

Hundreds of plaster casts crowd this studio. 
The sculptor frankly admits to an occasional 




f-nma Photo, by] 

smashing of them — that is, a wilful break- 
ing: up. In the outer yard a workman is 
chipping away at a small frieze, and in close 
proximity others are busily engaged on a 
colossal statue of Sir Steuart Bailey, Lieu- 
tenant-Governor of Bengal This work is 
subscribed for by the natives of India them- 
selves as a tribute to the Governor. Th:s 
part of the place is very workmanlike. Great 
blocks of marble are resting against the wall. 
One fine and pure piece is pointed out as 
weighing six tons. It cost ^200. Gran- 
ville is inside ! A workman is sawing away 
at a huge piece of the product of Carrara. 
You may watch him for an hour, but he 
seems to have done but little. He can only 
cut some eight inches a day- 
Chip, chip, chip ! goes the carver's 
hammer, and the chips that fall from the 
block are brushed into a corner, for the 
purveyor of aerated waters will fetch them 
away. How curious to think that the tiny 
pieces of marble which will eventually fall 
from the head of such a one as Lord 
Granville, and are now being freely scattered 
about the floor, will eventually become 
converted into the gas of soda-water ! Yet 
such is the case. 

The hammers, points, drills — of all sizes — 

and claws which produce the same effect as 
the Grecians obtained two thousand years ago 
lie in a state of utter alia podrida about the? 
stone floor, And the chip, chip, chip ! was 
still in our ears as we walked towards the 
garden once more and sat down beneath the 
shade of the mulberry tree. 

The pursuit of tf:at art of which Mr, 
Thorny croft is so capable a representative 
led to the meeting of his father and mother. 
His mother — a wonderfully delicate manipu- 
lator of chisel and hammer — was a pupil at 
his grandfather's studio, Mr, Thorny croft's 
father came from Cheshire to the studio, and 
met the lady who was to be the mother of 
the Royal Academician. They married. So 
it came about that William Hamo Thornycroft 
was born at 39, Stanhope Street, London, in 
1S50, He still possesses a vivid recollection 
of his grandfather, John Francis Thornycroft, 
though he was a mere child when he died ; 
and before referring to his past career, his 
thoughts freely travel towards his mother, 
whose figure of u The Skipping Girl" was 
considered by the Danish sculptor, Professor 
Jerichau, to be one of the six best modern 
statues in Europe. After paying this affec- 
tionate tribute to his mother, Mr, Thornycroft 
said ; — 




' Inhere were seven of us. \ was con- 
sidered the one too many, so I was sent off to 
an uncle, who was a farmer in Cheshire, at 
the age of four. You see, I was bred almost 
in the Open, and from this I believe my intense 
love for natural history sprang. The fields 
and meadows were my playground, and in 
the woods and along the hedgerows I think 
I found all my small heart needed to satisfy 
it I rode ? fished, and shot. Then, at eight 
years of age, I went to a village school, 
where I remained for two years. I rejoice 
in those days. We used to lock up the 
master until he promised to give us a 
holiday. He would cut out at us with the birch 
when he was free, but one day a stalwart 
young farmer championed our cause, and 
when the pedagogue saw him roll up his 
sleeves he flew ! 

11 At ten years of age I went to the 
Grammar School at Macclesfield, riding 
backwards and forwards every day. I 
certainly did learn a little drawing, hut my 
faculty, so to speak, in this direction lay in 
map-drawing, in which I always secured first 
place in my class/' 

Young Thorny croft remained there for two 
years. He came to London and caught the 
first glimpse of his lathers studio. At twelve 

years of age — and by this time he 
had quite decided in his own youth- 
ful mind that ho would not become 
a farmer — he was sent to University 
College School — a school which can 
claim the present President of the 
Royal Academy himself as one of 
its old boys. He remained there 
five years. He was a playground 
boy> revelling in cricket and fives, and 
he unquestionably became extremely 
popular — the outset of which was 
that in a lads' game popularly 
known as " Taking Prisoner/' the 
coming sculptor distinguished himself 
in the estimation of his schoolfellows 
by holding on to the biggest youth 
in the school until he was captured. 

One night the young 'Varsity 
College lad was walking along the 
Caledonian Road. His dream was 
almost a definite one. He knew his 
father had practically decided that he 
should be an engineer, but he in his 


Origin a Harem." 



own mind was leaning towards art. He 
stopped in front of a second-hand bookstall, 
which abounded in this thoroughfare in those 
da) s s and the first volume he picked up was a 
Homer, with illustrations by Flaxman. He 
bought it — three shillings and sixpence 
was the price. This book undoubtedly 
worked wonders with the lad He 
almost picked the pictures to pieces^ and 
one might say it was the purchase of this old 
volume that gave birth to the love of art 
which was in 
after years to 
materially assist 
in making the 
man famous* 

"I surrepti- 
tiously made 
some drawings," 
said Mr, Thorny- 
croft. " I went 
to the British 
Museum and 
drew for a time 
— pri ncipally 
Greek statuary, 
1 was fascinated 
by the wonderful 
work of those 
ancient Greeks. 
I worked and 
worked, and then 
the thought 
occurred to me, 
'Why should I 
not try for a 
studentship at 
the Royal Aca- 
demy?' Accord- 
ingly I appro- 
priated a corner 
of my fathers 
studio, and com- 
menced work 
upon a small 
model for an 
antique statue. 

My father winked at it, but his silence told 
me I was doing well. My mother never 
ceased to encourage me. The work 
finished— it was a dancing faun— I with 
fear and trembling carried it down 
to Burlington House The look of the 
hall-porter nearly crushed me, but he con- 
descended to take my statue, and — well, 
a week or two afterwards, on the recom 
mendation of Foley that I was a moral young 
man— I was admitted to the school as a pro- 
bationer. Then I started in earnest with a 

Digitize RJOgle 

From uj 

view to getting a seven years' studentship. 
True, my first training was at the British 
Museum, which I consider the very hest for 
a young man. It contains the finest work 
in the world, more especially Greek work ; and 
I leaned in that direction from the first— but I 
owe very much to the Academy Schools 
I got the seven years' studentship, during 
which time I took the highest awards for 
sculpture- I got a medal for drawing." 
This winning of the medal for drawing 

was quite an 
unusual thing for 
a sculptor* Here 
Mr. Thorny croft 
had many fellow 
students who 
have since be- 
come famous, 
Alfred Dicksee, 
R.A., who took 
the gold medal 
for painting the 
same year. 
Painter and 
sculptor have 
always run close 
together. Dick- 
see was made 
A.R*A. the same 
year as Mr. 
Thorny croft, and 
R«A, very near 
the same time — 
only the sculptor 
is married and 
the painter re- 
mains abachelor. 
They were hard- 
working days of 
studen tship, 
though there was 
always time for 
a little inward 
chuckle at the 
expense of old 
Charles Landseer, then the keeper of the 
Academy. He was very deaf, and so was 
his brother Tom, and when these two worthy 
brothers of Sir Edwin met, their efforts to 
catch one another's words was mirth-pro- 
voking in the extreme. 

4i In 1871 I went to Rome," the sculptor 
continued. "An aunt died and left me a 
little legacy, so, accompanied by two sisters, 
I visited Italy. I was deeply impressed, 
particularly by the Renaissance work, and the 
Michael An^^akfrdRprence. I visited 






Venice too, and the Venetian painters, 
particularly Tintoretto, influenced me much, 
I travelled altogether for seven weeks, but I 
was called back by a message from my father. 
1 think he must have recognised my work, for 
he told me that he wanted me to assist him 
in the carrying out of a commission for the 
Poets' Fountain in Park Lane. I modelled 
the figure of Clio at 
the base, and also that 
of Fame which sur- 
mounts the whole/ 1 

And " Fame JJ was a 
good omen. It was 
exhibited at the Royal 
Academy. Again he 
assisted his father in a 
fine statue of Lord Mayo 
for India. The public 
were not slow in recog- 
nising the genius of the 
young man, and Millais 
came forward and patted 
him on the back. 
Already Woolner had 
said an encouraging 
word. The very first 
commission he had was 
for a bust of Professor 
Sharpey, and Woolner 
gave him good cheer 
over this. In 1873 a 
medallion was refused 
by the Royal Academy 
—a work, by-t he-bye, 
now hanging in a house 
in Scotland — but the 
sculptor was by no 
means discouraged. It 
paid him to wait, for 
it made him work with 
truer determination, and 
in 1875 the gold medal 
was secured, the little 
supper-party held, and 
Stacy Mark 5 3 s friend- 
ship cemented. The future now seemed 

11 1 gradually took the lead in my father's 
studio," he said, " working in the old house 
in Wilton Place, formerly occupied by West- 
macott My father became very much 
wrapped up in engineering, and soon forsook 
the place altogether for my brother's torpedo 
works at Chi s wick- I was now engaged on 
quite a number of portrait busts, etc, but I 
was longing to go farther. Just as the young 
architect always starts by drawing the plans 
for a cathedral, so did I want to do some- 

+ vol vL— as. 

thing equally big. My father gave up the 
studio, so a friend and I designed these, and 
in 1877 I came here, I started on * Lot's 
Wife.' I followed this up by 'Artemis/ I 
have already told you what a grand model 
I had for it, though indeed the face was 
purely ideal. I had my notion — as I believe 
everybody else has — as to what Artemis 
would be like if she 
came to earth. Water- 
house, the architect, 
brought the Duke of 
Westminster to see it. 
He must have liked it, 
for he immediately gave 
me a commission to 
carry it out in marble. 
It is now at Eaton HalL 
It was the real begin- 
ning of my success, for 
on that I was elected 
an Associate of the 
Academy in 1881, 

" The idea then came 
to me that a successful 
statue might be created 
from the employment of 
two simple lines prac- 
tically at right angles 
My first impression was 
to utilize an archer, but 
eventually I selected the 
Greek hero famous as 
an archer in the * Iliad/ 
This was ' The Teucer,' 
and was carried out in 
bronze. This brought 
me great happiness, for 
it was bought under the 
Chant rey bequest, and is 
now in South Kensing- 
ton. I think it was only 
the third piece of sculpn 
ture bought under this 
t (i bequest, the other two 

being Sir Frederick 
Leighton's 'Athlete and Python ' and Calder 
Marshall's ' Prodigal Son. 1 Yes, I was very 
delighted, for it meant that my own work had 
found pleasure in my fellow sculptors' eyes, 
I also did 'The Mower' in bronze and 
'The Sower/ Then the 'Medea*' 

" This last is illustrative of William Morris's 
'Life and Death of Jason/ It was a com- 
mission from a man who died just after I 
had finished it in plaster— as it is now — and 
I shall not complete it unless somebody 
wants it" 

Then came a remarkable change in the 

by LiOOgle 




KJkTins or frieze ?oh the institute qf charts red accountants 

character of his work — the classical was left 
for a time, and the realistic, the modern, 
taken up. He had been to France, and was 
struck with the direction in which art was 
tending* It was becoming more modernized, 
more typical of the day in which we live as 
representing the history of the period of our 
own existence, instead of speculating on that of 
the ancients. So he started and completed his 
first great public statue — a commission from 
the Government — General Gordon, which 
now stands in Trafalgar Square, and a replica 
of which is in Melbourne, 

" I have reasons to believe that the work 
was given to me at the instigation of Sir 
Frederick Leighton and Sir John Millais, and 
I was engaged on it for two and a half years. 
The model I employed was an Englishman. 
I read up as many lives of Gordon as I could, 
being particularly impressed with his career 
in China, I never saw him, but he grew in 
ny mind the hero he undoubtedly was, 

*'I remember hearing an Italian officer say: 
4 No country in the world could produce a 
man like fiord on save England. 3 So I con- 
ceived the man — of wonderful strength of 
mind, love, kindness, affection — all these, 
and such I endeavoured to suggest in my 
figure. The Bible in his hand is exactly like 
the one he used — now in possession of the 
Queen, I was very much helped by 
Digiliz&d byLri 

photographs, particularly by a full-length one 
taken in China ; but I was anxious to obta:n 
some personal description, and it was over 
this that I had the two widest opinions as to 
a man's appearance I have ever heard, 

11 1 asked Sir Henry Gordon for some in- 
formation on this point 

" * My brother, 3 he said, * was a fine, 
soldierly fellow ; stalwart, well set up and 
erect like this,' and Sir Henry pulled himself 

**I went further and asked a fellow officer 
of Gordon's, 

" ' Oh ! ' he assured me, £ rather humped- 
back, like this, 1 and he too illustrated his 
meaning. The divergence was so great that 
I fell back upon the photos, The small 
quotation on the pedestal, * Right fears no 
might/ is my own. As you know, the 
Trafalgar Square pedestal has two panels — 
* Fortitude and Fairh/ and * Charity and 
Justice,' The replica, which was com- 
missioned by the Australians— who sent a 
contingent up the Nile to relieve him — has 
four panels, including the death scene at 
Khartoum, which I modelled from first-hand 
descriptions, I also did John Bright for 

Mr. Thornycroft has done many other 
remarkably fine works of a modern cha- 
racter, m addition to those already referred 




to in the early pages of this article — Sir 
Arthur Cotton, Professor Erichsen, Samuel 
Taylor Coleridge (now in Westminster 
Abbey), Thomas Gray (at Pembroke College, 
Cambridge), Henry Bradshaw, Dr. Harvey, 
an equestrian statue of Lord Mayo for Cal- 
cutta, etc* He was elected a member of the 
Royal Academy in 1888, his diploma work 
being u The Mirror." Amongst his latter- 
day work the friezes which decorate the 
exterior of the Institute of Chartered 
Accountants might be singled out as being 
amongst the finest examples of their kind 
in the country. 

We returned to the house. In passing 
through the studio we noticed a woman and 
child standing, as though waiting, The 
woman's olive complexion and glorious black 
eyes told of her 
nationality. As for 
the little one's eyes 
— they were alight as 
they wandered in 
wonderment round 
the great place Italy 
was their home. 

" Excuse me for a 
moment," said Mr* 

He spoke to the 
mother and little one. 
The woman smiled 
and seemed glad. 

"Models," the 
sculptor said to me, 
" There is a village 
near Naples where it 
is a tradition 
amongst the inhabi- 
tants to come to 
England and become 
models, So * models' 
run in the family, 
from one generation 
to another. So they 
come here, and settle 
for the most part 
either in Hatton 
Garden or West 
Kensington. They 
are unquestionably 

the best models. They have an extraordinary 
habit of knowing how to sit still. I have 
had them remain in the same strained posi- 
tion for two hours at a time. Yet I would 
not say one word against your English 

" One of my best * pointers ' sat to me as a 
boy years ago. Your English model is only just 
beginning to wake up to the fact that they 
can only be models for a time, and recently 
I have met with cases where they are making 
a decided effort to be proficient in something 
else beside * sitting/ I had a girl here the 
other day who is learning the type-writer, and 
another is already very skilful at book-keeping, 
and balances a certain butcher's books every 
Monday evening after work in the studio is 

We talked together of many things at 
lunch. He considers Fhxman and Stevens 
two of the greatest sculptors this country has 
ever seen, and does not hesitate to recognise 
the French sculptors as the most gifted in 
Europe, and the Italians the most "frivolous." 

He believes that the 
future of sculpture 
in this country is 
assured. In the 
streets of London 
the statues of great 
men are necessary : 
the public ask for 
them and expect to 
see them erected. 
Yet, he thinks that 
in small bronze works 
the future of sculp 
t u re 1 ies. Our cl i mate 
was never made for 
marble anymore than 
marble was made for 
this climate. Bronze 
is the thing, His 
realistic work has by 
no means killed his 
love of the Greek 
school. He has 
sketches for a num- 
ber of antiques, which 
he hopes at some 
future time to carry 
out, but he regards it 
as an advantage to 
a man to be able to 
change the character 
of his work, otherwise 
the public would get 
bored with it, for their demand is for variety. 
As a proof of his present leaning towards tt\g 
Greek, if he had to live, so to speak, with 
one of his own statues, he would immediately 
choose— " Artemis." 

Harry How, 

by Google 

Original from 

Spiking the Guns. 

By C J. Cutcliffe Hynk 

HE regiment will be annihi- 
lated," observed the Adjutant, 
coolly. And then, in the 
same immovable tones, he 
asked someone to pass him 
a biscuit 

" Curse you," shouted the Colonel, *' do 
you think I don't know that ? Do you 
imagine I fear getting killed to-morrow ? Do 
you suppose I want to live on after what has 
happened? It's the eternal disgrace of the 
thing that's cutting me," 

"Once comfortably shot," remarked the 
senior Major with easy philosophy, " it doesn't 
much matter to me personally where, or for 
why, I go down. Not a soul will be left 
behind to care. 7 ' 

This last remark added tinder to the blaze. 
The Major was a peasant's son who had 
hacked and. thrust his way up from the ranks 
by sheer hard fighting. His commanding 
officer was a noble of the old regime. He 
had hoped, and reasonably expected, that 
the previous day's engagement would give 
him a brigade ; and so the fiasco had fallen 
all the more bitterly. 

It seemed as though the very stars in their 
courses had been battling against us, Every- 
thing had gone wrong. The blame was not 
ours ; but this, in an army where want of luck 
was the greatest crime, told nothing in our 
favour. Many men had fallen, and panic had 
seized the heels of the rest. Which of us 
initiated the run cannot be said ; but in the 
rush of some, all had been carried along, few 
(except, perhaps > one or two of the older 
officers) resisting very strenuously. The 
Colonel, burning with shame, had gone in to 
report What precisely had been said to 
him we did not know ; but we guessed with 
some accuracy, although he did not repeat 
the detail The gist of his interne w was 
that the regiment was to attack again on the 
morrow; and if unsuccessful then, once 
more on the day after; and so on till the 
bridge was taken. 

Yesterday the thing had been barely 
possible. Yet to-day it was far different. 
During the night the defences had been more 
than trebled* The Austrians swarmed. 
Enough artillery was mounted there now to 

have demolished an entire army corps 
advancing against it from the open. 

The deduction was clear. The bravest 
men will turn tail sometimes; and in our army, 
which was the bravest in the world, there had, 
during the latter part of the campaign, been 
more than one case of wavering. An 
example accordingly was to be made. Our 
corps had been singled out for the condign 
punishment. We were doomed to march 
on the morrow to our annihilation. 

Of course, the matter had not been put so 
at headquarters. There the words ran : 
"Most important strategic point Must be 
taken at whatever cost. Your regiment will 
again have the honour, Colonel," and so on, 
But, summed up bluntly, it was neither more 
nor less than I have said. We all understood 
the order to the letter, and there was not a 
man in the regiment who would hesitate a 
moment in carrying out his share. Each 
private soldier, each officer, would march 
with firm determination to march then his 
last That gives the case in a nutshell 

But the secure knowledge that there would 
be no skulkers along this road to execution 
did not pacify the Colonel, If anything, it 
increased his bitterness. It would make his 
ungrateful memory last the longer. He sat 
at the table-end of that inn room where we 
had messed, with folded arms and nervous 
fingers kneading at his muscles. By a 
singular irony we were lodged in comfort 
there — we, who had got to go out and die on 
the morrow — and he must needs taunt us 
with it, as though it were shame for such as 
we to have so tolerable a billet* 

Myself, I was stretched out on a sofa away 
by the far wall, and lay there mutely, having 
but little taste for the wordy savageries which 
were being so freely dealt about. And the 
night grew older without my being disturbed. 
But the angry man at the end of the table 
singled me out at last, perhaps because my 
outward calm and Hstlessness jarred upon him, 

" Tired, Eugene ? " he asked. 

*' A little, sir/ ,J 

"Ah, I can understand it. I noted your 
activity to-day. You have mistaken your 
vocation, mon chcr* You should not have 
come into the army. You should have been 
a professional runner." 

by Google 

Original from 



An answer burned on my tongue. But I 
kept it there, gave a shrug, and said nothing. 
What use could further wrangling be ? But 
the silence was an ill move, It only angered 
him further, and he threw at ttie an insult which 
was more than human man could endure* 

" Do you think you will again feel inclined 
to use those powers of yours to-morrow, 
Eugene? Or had I better have you hand- 
cuffed to some steady old soldier ? ;| 

A dozen of the other officers sprang to 
their feet at this ghastly taunt, for when such 
a thing as this was said to one of their num- 
ber, it tcfuched all. The old Major was their 

"Colonel, we make all allowances, but you 
are going too far with the youngster," 

He read it* 

"There, sir/ 1 I said, "kindly add the 
date, as I have forgotten what it is, and 
please leave that behind with the Laggage 
when we march to-morrow* If I do not do 
better work for France than any man in the 
regiment 3 it is my wish that this paper be 
published*" The Colonel nodded grimly, 
and then frowned. 

" Have I your permission now, sir, to with- 
draw from this room ? " 

A refusal was framing itself — I could see 
it ; but the lowering faces around made him 
curb his passion, and he nodded again, but 

In the dark, wet air outside, and not before, 


The Colonel scowled round tight-lipped for 
a minute, and then : — * 

" I am quite capable of commanding this 
regiment of lo^t sheep, without unasked-for 
ad vi ce fro rn su bo rd i nates, M a j or , Lieu t ena 11 1 
Ramard, you heard my question, I presume ? 
Please have the civility to answer*" 

During the minute's respite I had been 
thinking and acting — that is, writing. I got 
up and handed the Colonel a slip of paper 
On it were the words : — 

"/ acknowledge that I, E* J?amard 7 Lieu* 

tenant &f the 22 nd ■, am a toward. 

(Signed) " Eugene Ramard." 

by OC 


did I realize fully what I had done. The 
screed on the slip of paper had been the 
spasm of the instant It seemed to me now 
the outcome of a moment's insanity. I had 
had no plan, no trace of scheme in my head 
whilst I was scribbling. The words and the 
pledge were an empty boast, made in the 
wild hope that I could hold them good. But 
how could such a thing be done ? The most 
furious, desperate courage, by itself, would 
avail nothing, There would be a thousand 
men around, each to the full as brave 
as I — for no one can march farther 
than death — and to do "better work 
Original from 




for France " than any of them ! Ah, 
no, the thing was impossible. With them I 
should fall, and amongst all of them I alone 
would be branded infamous. The paper 
would be brought to light ; the curt, bald 
confession would be read with no explanation 
of how or why it was written ; and men 
would form their own opinions — all hostile, 
all against me. 

To leave behind nothing but the name of 
a self-avowed coward ! Oh, agony ! bitter 
agony ! 

I wandered wherever my blind feet led me, 
wrenched by torments that God alone knew 
the strength of, and from which there seemed 
no human means of escape. The heavy 
rain-squalls moaned down the village streets. 
The place, with its armed tenantry, slept 
Only the dripping sentries were open-eyed. 
These, taking me for an officer on ordinary 
rounds, saluted with silent respect No soul 
interfered with me. Not even a dog barked. 

The thought came : You die only to gain 
a wreath of craven plumes. Why not pass 
a wa y from here — escape — d eser t — va n is h — 
be known no more -and yet live ? No 
one withholds from you new life and new 
country. France alone, of all the world, is 
utterly hopeless for you. 

The thought gained* I say it freely now, 
for the dead, dull blackness of my pros- 
pect then showed no spot of relief, In 
my walkings to and 
fro I gradually 
verged nearer and 
nearer to the outer 
cordon. As an 
officer I knew the 
words for the 
night, sign and 
■countersign both. 
I could pass the 

Farther and 
farther towards the 
scattered outskirts 
of the hamlet did 
my doubting feet 
lead me. In one 
more patrol up and 
down I think my 
mind would have 
been made up, and, 
after that, whatever 
deluge the Fates 
desired. But a 
sound fell on my 
ear, faint and not 
unmusical, I was 

dully conscious of some new scheme begin- 
ning to frame itself. I changed my path, 
and walked faster. 

Presently the cause of the sound disclosed 
itself A field forge, an anvil, and couple of 
grimy farriers, and half-a-dozen troopers with 
horses. The cavalrymen were resting on 
the ground, watering-bridle in hand, awaiting 
their turns. The smiths were slaving, sweat- 
ing, swearing, doing the w f ork of thrice their 
number. It was a queer enough group, and 
I gazed at it for many minutes, still unable 
to frame the gauzy idea that had reanimated 
me. Then one of the farriers who had been 
fitting a hissing shoe on to a hind hoof, 
chilled the hot iron in a rain puddle, and 
humped up the horse's fetlock on to his 
apron again. 

I started. 

The fellow picked up a hammer, took a 
nail from his mouth, and drove the nail first 
gently, ar\d then smartly home. " There, 
vicious one," swore he. " I put that spike 
through the vent in a matter of seconds, but 
with these four others beside it, thoult not 
rid thyself of it in as many weeks/' 

I strode forward. 

" Five louis for that hammer and a score 
of nails ! " 

The military smith dropped the hoof from 
his lap, came to attention, and saluted. But 
he looked at me queerly, and answered 


Original fronn 




nothing. I could see he thought nie mad. 

Very likely excitement had made me look so. 

" Ten louis. There is the money, in gold," 

" My officer, the things are yours." 

Steel spikes, brittle rods that would snap 

off short, would have been better. But time 

was growing narrow, and I must take what 

offered. These soft bent nails would serve 

my purpose. And now for the river. The 

current was swift, and I could not swim a 

stroke, I must go up-stream, and trust to 

find some tree-trunk or wooden balk that 

would aid me in floating down, 


Of the matters that happened after this I 
cannot speak with any minuteness. To think 
back at, the whole time seems like a blurred 
dream, broken by snatches of dead sleep, I 
know I gained my 
point 011 the river- 
bank, some mile 
above the village, 
and entered the 
water there, find- 
ing it chill as ice, 
I think it was a 
small fence -gate 
that aided my 
choking passage. 
I can only recol- 
lect clearly that 
the thing I clung 
to was terribly un- 
stable; and that 
on being landed 
by a chance eddy 
on a strip of shoal, 
I lay there for 
fully half an hour, 
listening to a sen- 
try plodding past 
and past through 
the mud ten yards 
away, unable to move a limb, Then I 
gathered strength ; and crawling, not only from 
caution but through sheer helplessness, made 
my stealthy way still further along the shore. 

Four batteries commanded the approaches 
to the bridge. Two were on either flank, to 
deliver a converging fire ; two, one above the 
other, were in a direct line with it, so that the 
causeway could be swept from end to end* 

It was in the lower of these last that I 
found myself — by what route come, I can- 
not say* Only then my senses seemed to 
return to me. I was lying in an embra- 
sure. Overhead was the round, black chase 
of a sixty-pounder. I crawled farther and 

looked down the line. Six more guns loomed 
through the night, making seven in all 

The rain was coming down in torrents, 
sending up spurts of mud. There were men 
within a dozen yards, wakeful men \ and then, 
and not before, did it flash upon me that my 
farrier's hammer was a useless weapon. Fool 
that I was to bring it. Idiot I must have 
been to forget that the first clink would 
awaken the redoubt My life ? No, pah ! I 
didn't count that. But it would mean only 
one gun spiked effectually, if so much, I 
drew back into the embrasure, and knitted 
my forehead afresh. The right thought was 
tardy, but it came. I drew off my boot It 
was new, and it was heavy — badinage had been 
poured out by my comrades over its heavi- 
ness. The strong-sewn heel would drive 
like a calkef's mallet 


Then I got to work. The guns were 
loaded and primed* The locks were covered 
with leather aprons. I used infinite caution ; 
crawling like a cat, crouching in deepest 
shadows, stopping, making detours ; not for 
mere life's sake, be it understood, but because 
life was wanted for work yet undone* 

The seven guns were put out of action, 
and still the night was dark and the Austrians 
were ignorant behind the curtain of pelting 
rain, , * . And then on to the upper 
battery. . . . Two, four, eight guns ! 

Three I spiked, and the night began to 
grey. Three more, and men were stirring. 
I got reckless, and sprang openly at another. 




The air was filling with shouts, and stinking 
powder smoke, and crashes, and the red flash 
of cannon. 

The French were advancing to the storm 
in the wet, grey dawn. Both flanking 
batteries, fully manned, had opened upon 
them ; but of the guns which had direct 
command of the bridge, only one spoke. 

Into the roar of artillery, the wind brought 
up yells, and oaths, and bubbling shrieks. 
And then the eagles came through the 
smoke. There was no stopping that rush* 

Somehow I found myself amongst com- 
rades, fighting with a claw-backed farrier J s 
hammer ; knowing nothing of order, or 
reason, or how these things came to pass ; 
but heated only by an insane desire to kill, 
and kill, and kill ! And 
then I grappled with a man 
who was struggling off with 
a flag, and wrestled with him 
in a crimson slough, and 
choked him down into it, 
whilst heavily - shod feet 
trampled madly on both of 
us. And afterwards there 
was more shouting and 
cheering; and mighty hand- 
claps between my shoulder- 
blades ; and the old Major, 
who gave me cognac out of 
a silver flask — cognac which 
seemed to have been sadly 

all I re- 
woke up 
from the 

The Colonel turned and exchanged some 
words with a little, pale man near him, who 
sat awkwardly on a white stallion. 

He resumed : " The Emperor has con- 
sidered your case, sir, confirms the arrest, 
and orders you to be reduced to the ranks," 
The Colonel paused, and continued : — 

" But as a reward for your gallantry, your 
commission of captain will be made out with 
promotion to the first vacant majority, and 
you will also receive a decoration." 

And then I was ordered to advance again, 
and the Emperor transferred a Cross of the 
Legion from his own breast to mine. 

"Captain of the Twenty-second," he said* 
" thou art my brother." 

I never asked for the Colonel's apology. 

And that is 
membered till I 
in the afternoon 
sofa in that village 
Reveille had sounded. 

mustered under arms, and 
the roll was called. Many 
did not answer. 

And then : " Stand out, 
Lieutenant Ramard ! n said 
the Colonel. 

1 advanced, and saluted. 

H You will consider your- 
self under arrest, sir, for 
desertion before the enemy. 
Presently, you will sur- 
render your sword, and 
report yourself at head- 

11 Captain of tub twhntvsecund, he said. 

by Google 

Original from 

Beauties — Children. 

Fmn it Photo. »t A. W. l*t, lAnuto*, X, 

Wit. *Jj iH _ 

Vol vi.— 37. 

JVcyJU n ^turtvr Ittj A. EtliM t Ujy*r Btiktr Strvtt. 

by Google 

Ft r PkQio. by Arthur JYeut^ + \"^ltin^hitrtt. 

Original from 


From a Photo, by A, J£*»tf CoIIwq*. Wtd Brighton. rram* Photo. I* G. L Lea, Watford, 

From a photo* kit G> T> Jom* <£ Vo. , Sitrbitml. 



Promt* Photo. fry A. £ntuf Coilim^ JF*rf Brighton. 


Ftom n Phtiio, bp flormud. TAvtrptMl 

w ^^^l, m i Mn i rr^ 


by Google 

Original from 





way of rushing to the insect world for his lessons, though a moment's reflection and a few 
inquiries would convince him that the insect world is the most immoral sphere of action 
existing. The pervading villainy of the whole insect kingdom is obvious in the very system 
of their existence ; for if ever you inquire what is the earthly use of some particular insect, 
you always find that it is to eat some other insect, which, if allowed to increase, would 
do all sorts of frightful damage* You then find that the use of this second insect is to kill 

some other insect, an equal 
pest ; the object in life of the 
third insect being to unite in 
large numbers and 
assassinate some 
entirely different 
and very large 
insect indeed, who 
spends his days 
and nights skir- 
mishing about and 
devouring all the 
different sorts of 
insects we have 
^._. just been speaking 

^/^ I ^£3p^ ^^ of. Therefore, 

since the mission 

of every insect is 

to kill some other, it is plain that murder 

is the chief occupation of the insect 

tribes, and even the illustrative moralist 

is reported to admit that murder is not 

a strictly moral amusement. Also, since it is proper that every insect should be kept in 

restraint by some other, it is plain that the sum of insect depravity, apart from murder, must 

be vast indeed; which disposes of the insect as a popular preacher. 

But the insect as an ogre, the insect as a pirate, as a flute, a flageolet, a torpedo, a Jew's 
harp, a walking-stick, a double bass, and a Jack-in-the-box — in such characters he shines* 
often literally. For the beetle Xyhirupcs^ with his glossy back, is a double bass, and 
nothing in the world else — unless it be a bloated violoncello. Just as the stick insect may 
be a flute, a flageolet, a walking-stick, or a mere twig, as fancy may persuade you ; and as the 

Vol vi,— 38. 





trap-door spider may be a Jack-in-the-box or 
a wicked ogre rising through the stage in a 
pantomime. Here, in the Insect House, one 
may see the trap-door in all its neatly fitting 
and spring-hinged guile, and there is no reason 
why a moral fable should not be built round 
him, or round any other inject, so long as he 
is not elevated to an ethical pedestal whereon 
he has no right. For instance, one might 
tell the Fable of the Artful Spider and 
the Fascinating Beetle thus : " A certain 
Green Beetle, that was a great Belle, 
was much Beloved by a Brown Spider, 
owning an elegant and convenient Trap- 
door in a Fashionable Situation. But 
his Suit had an unfavourable course 
owing to the intervention of a 
Prussian Blue Beetle, who was 
the more fa- 
voured Swain. 
Having thought 
on many Stra- 
tagems, the 

Spider at length placed a rustic seat near his 

Dwelling, and Advertised that that was the Place 

to Spend a Happy Day, knowing full well that 

the Green Beetle and the Prussian Blue Beetle 

would take Cheap Returns, and sit upon the 

rustic seat to Spoon. And when things fell 

out as he had intended, behold, he arose from 

his Den and Tickled 
the Prussian Blue 
Beetle in the Ribs, 
quietly Concealing 
himself. And having 
Repeated this, at 

length he left open the Trap-door, taking 
Ambush behind it ; and when the Prussian 
Blue Beetle arose and investigated the 
Premises, with great Speed did the Spider 

hasten to shut down the Lid upon him, 
placing a Weight thereon, to reconcile 
him to his Incarceration. And straight- 
way the Spider did make his Court 
unto the Green Beetle, and they lived 
as happy as usual ever afterward. 
Moral: We may learn from this History, 
that, as the Poet has already Taught, it is 
unwise to introduce your Dona to a Pal." 
The big hairy Tarantula Spider, too, the ogre that will kill a bird or a mouse when large 
insects are scarce, is here with his venom and ugliness in complete order. He sheds his 
^kin periodically, sometimes leaving it perfect throughout except in the one place through 





which he emerges, 
so that it would 
be possible to 
" have him stuffed " with- 
out killing him. Where- 
of one may tell the Fable 
of the Wicked Ogre, or 
the Tarantula Boom. "A certain 


sung more than ever s and people 
this Ogre demanded the Sacrifice 
all the Crawling Things, being 

Ogre, that was a Tarantula Spider, 

and dwelt in a Dark Place by the 

hillside, grew so oppressive in his 

Demands upon the neighbouring insects, as to 

create a Scare or Tarantula Boom, whereof a Song 

was written. For you must know that this Ogre, 

not satisfied with an occasional Cockroach, did levy 

daily contributions upon the population, and kept, 

hanging in his larder, a great Store of Prime 

Joints, much greater than his Requirement 

And the Song of the Tarantula Boom was 

grew Mad. Among many other Things, 

every day of a White Lady, And still did 

bitten by the Tarantula, or as some said. Tara-ra Boom, fall to Dancing and Singing the 

aforesaid Song like Mad, because of the 
Boom ; all the White Ladies and all the 
others ; and there was much High Kicking 
and Flinging of the Heels : Until at last 
all the Insects, finding the Tara-ra Boom 
beyond endurance, resolved to 
Come In their Thousands and Slay 
the Ogre. Of which the Ogre 
having privy Information, he set 
about to devise some means to 
Terrify his Assailants. To that end 
he Cast his Skin, taking much care 
not to Damage the suit of clothes, 
and set it Empty but seeming Full 

beside him. And when the Posse of Insects, driven Desperate with much repetition of 

the Tara-ra Boom (or as some did now call it, the Tara-ra Boom D, A,, because it was 

Deuced Annoying), came unto the Ogre, behold, he was Twins, And they marvelled 

much, saying one to another, Lo, the Job has doubled in size; verily it would seem a 

Bit Too Thick, Thus they went Home In their Thousands, each diligently slinging 

his respective Hook, by Reason of the game not being Good enough. And so it was that 

the Tara-ra Boom D. A, lasted for ever* 

Morai \ very." 

Speaking of booms, by the way, one 

remembers that, according to Tennyson, "At 


by Google 

Original from 



eve the beetle boometk" But the only beetle 
one remembers as effecting much in the way 
of a boom is the Colorado Beetle. The beetle, 
as a general thing, is not given to publicity of 
any sort, preferring a retired and quiet life. He 
never interferes in public affairs— having too many 
legs to look after. The Bombardier Beetle, how- 
ever, can boom. Touch him, and you will hear. 

Quantrill, here, is very kind to the Tarantula 
Spiders, often giving them a steam bath to 
assist them in getting rid of their old suits of 
clothes. Quantrill keeps 
butterflies, caterpillars, and 
House. He is a man who 
of being when nothing feels crawly — not even a 
centipede To be on terms of daily intimacy 
with lions, tigers, elephants , and pelicans is a 
great thing, but I feel a more peculiar awe for a 
man who is the confidential friend of several 
bcorpions, and who keeps two spider-ogres on 

in order the moths, 
spiders in the Insect 
has arrived at a state 


'what a lovelv sealskin! ditt there's MOTH IN' 

show in glass cases; consequently, 
I am always respectful to Quan- 
trill, and inspect his person care- 
fully for stray scorpions before 
coming very near. 

A certain amount of entomo- 
logy is forced on everybody, 
whether of a scientific turn 
or not There are very many 
seaside lodging-houses where the 
whole of the inmates, without 
distinction of scientific tastes, 
^leeplessly adopt the study from their first night of residence- The sea air invariably 

stimulates interest in natural history. Nobody, therefore, 
however humble, need despair of acquiring entomological 
knowledge from want of material. The earnest student 
need do no more than buy an expensive 
sealskin cloak to gather together an instructive 
swarm of moths, sufficient to engage his 
attention for a long time. The Japanese, 
bv-the-bye, have a pretty story to account for 
the rushing of moths at a flame, The moths, 
they say, in love with the night-flies, were 
bidden to fetch fire for their adornment The 
moths, being naturally fools from the circum 
stance of being in love, rushed at the first 
flame available, and were damaged, This is a very 
pretty excuse for the moth, and perhaps more 
■tering than the belief prevalent in this country, 
which is that the moth is fool enough to burn him- 
self without being in love. Because a moth never 
learns wisdom. Once having got away with the loss 
<if half a wing, he might reasonably be expected, in 
future, on observing the light that caused the damage, 

to remark, knowinglv, u Oh*, that's an old flame of 
Original from 



by Google 


2 93 

mine," and pass by on the other side. But he 
doesn't. He flies into it again and burns his 
other wing T or, more probably, roasts himself 
completely. Thousands of generations of 
scorched and roasted moths have passed away 
without developing the least knowledge of the 
properties of fire in their descendants. The 
moth remains consistent, and a fool. 

There are few things of its size more annoy- 

ing than a blue- 
bottle. He is 
always bursting 
with offensive, 
bouncing, robust 
animal spirits. He 
snorts and trum- 

"5EEDV, jsh 9" 

" IVHVj you're all right I " 


vut; won't?" 

M OFF I " 

by ^OOgle 

[>ets about your 
room in an- absurdly 
important manner, 
when you are 
anxious not to be 
disturbed. To per- 
sonal acquaintances 
of his own size he 
must be an intoler- 
able nuisance. He is like those awful stout 
persons who wear very shiny hats very much 
on one side, who hum loud choruses, slap 
you boisterously on the back, take you 
forcibly by the arm and drag you out for 
promenades when you are anxious to be left 
alone. He is preferable to these persons, 
inasmuch as with some expenditure of time 
and temper and the shattering of various 
small pieces of furniture you may smash the 




bluebottle^ whereas the law protects the other creature. The 

bluebottle, however, adds to his other objectionablenesses by 

plunging among and rolling in your meals before your very eyes. 
The Death Watch is another domestic insect never very 

cordially received. He only taps by way of telegraphic signal to 

his friends, but after all the terror he has 

caused he might have had the considera- 
tion to invent some other system. The 

Death-Watch, the Death V Head-Moth, and 

the Pirate Spider are the banditti among 

insects -who are all cut-throats themselves 

to begin with. 

One of the most remarkable characteristics of 

insects as a class is their contempt for legs* No 

insect minds the loss of a leg or two, having so 

many others. A spider sometimes will get along 

very well with one. Indeed, every insect would seem 

to be made of parts which are complete strangers to 

each other. I have seen a wasp "divided/ 1 like the urate anu the death's-head. 

Clonglocketty Angus MeClan, "close by the waist/' but 

not in the least inconvenienced by the solution of continuity. The front half, having the 

best of the bargain by reason of retaining the wings and legs, strolled away in the most 

unconcerned fashion, leaving the unfortunate abdomen, legless and wingless, to get home as 

best it might Whereon one might construct yet another fable, relating the meeting of the 

front end of that wasp with an enemy, and its inability to use its sting at a critical moment, 

with the moral, Never Despise even a Deserted 
Abdomen, Wasps, by the way, are not social 
favourites. I have seen an ordinarily companion- 
able man, not otherwise given to physical exercise, 


climb fatiguingly, and grovel painfully by way of 

excusing himself from making a wasp's closer 

acquaintance. And when a wasp succeeds in 

making a visit, alighting on a mans hand or 

neck, that man never asks him to sit down, 

because it is when a wasp bits down that one best understands the usdessness of his 

acquaintance. The only satisfactory way of averting a wasp-sting is to stand on the 

animal's back for five minutes before he commences. 

The domestic black-beetle is so called in celebration of its being brown in colour 
and not a beetle. Beetles are aristocrats who keep their wings in sheaths. The 
more proper name for Btatta Orientals is the cockroach, because it is equally 

f~*r\nnl fc Original fronn 



2 95 

unlike a cock and 
a roach. Its use 
in the economy of 
Nature is to supply 
a consolation for 
big feet. It is well 
known as a kitchen 
ornament, although 
its natural diffi - 
dence of disposi- 
tion induces it to 
reserve its decora- 
tive effects for the 
evening, when it 
organizes reviews 
and parades on 
every available 
spot. Few domestic 


4 *»&k.-t*»*C** 

*&\)t ftoo*e Mid 

pets are regarded 
more affectionately 
by their proprietors. 
Lettuce leaves and 
wafers are distri- 
buted for its com- 
fort nightly, and I 
have known even 
respectable teeto- 
talers to pander to 
its depraved tastes, 
and provide it with 
the means of shock- 
ing intoxication in 
an old pie - dish 
provided with con- 
venient ladders. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 

URING my long and intimate 
acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes I had never heard him 
refer to his relations, and hardly 
ever to his own early life. This 
reticence upon his part had in- 
creased the somewhat inhuman effect which 
he produced upon me, until sometimes I found 
myself regarding him as an isolated pheno- 
menon, a brain without a heart, as deficient 
in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in 
intelligence. His aversion to women, and 
his disinclination to form new friendships, 
were both typical of his unemotional character, 
but not more so than his complete suppression 
of every reference to his own people. I had 
come to believe that he was an orphan with 
no relatives living, but one day, to my very 
great surprise, he began to talk to me about 
his brother. 

It was after tea on a summer evening, and 
the conversation, which had roamed in a 
desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs 
to the causes of the change in the obliquity 
of the ecliptic, came round at last to the 
question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. 
The point under discussion was how far any 
singular gift in an individual was due to his 
ancestry, and how far to his own early 

"In your own case," said I, "from all 
that you have told me it seems obvious that 
your faculty of observation and your peculiar 
facility for deduction are due to your own 
systematic training." 

" To some extent," he answered, thought- 
fully. " My ancestors were country squires, 
who appear to have led much the same life, 
as is natural to their class. But, none the 
less, my turn that way is in my veins, and may 
have come with my grandmother, who was 
the sister of Vernet, the French artist Art in 
the blood is liable to take the strangest forms." 

" But how do you know that it is 
hereditary ? " 

" Because my brother Mycroft possesses it 
in a larger degree than I do." 

by Google 

This was news to me, indeed. If there 
were another man with such singular powers 
in England, how was it that neither^police 
nor public had heard of him? I put the 
question, with a hint that it was my com- 
panion's modesty which made him acknow- 
ledge his brother as his superior. Holmes 
laughed at my suggestion. 

" My dear Watson," said he, " I cannot 
agree with those who rank modesty among 
the virtues. To the logician all things should 
be seen exactly as they are, and to under- 
estimate oneself is as much a departure from 
truth as to exaggerate one's own powers. 
When I say, therefore, that Mycroft has 
better powers of observation than I, you 
may take it that I am speaking the exact 
and literal truth." 

" Is he your junior ? " 

"Seven years my senior." 

" How comes it that he is unknown ? " 

" Oh, he is very well known in his own 

" Where, then ? " 

"Well, in the Diogenes Club, for ex- 

I had never heard of the institution, and 
my face must have proclaimed as much, for 
Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch. 

" The Diogenes Club is the queerest club 
in London, and Mycroft, one of the queerest 
men. He's always there from a quarter to five 
till twenty to eight. It's six now, so if you 
care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shall 
be very happy to introduce you to two 

Five minutes later we were in the street, 
walking towards Regent Circus. 

" You wonder," said my companion, " why 
it is that Mycroft does not use his powers 
for detective work. He is incapable of it." 

" But I thought you said ! " 

" I said that he was my superior in 
observation and deduction. If the art of 
the detective began and ended in reasoning 
from an arm-chair, my brother would be the 
greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But 
\j\ i q i n d i Trorn 





he has no ambition and no energy* He will 
not even go out of his way to verify his own 
solutions, and would rather he considered 
wrong than take the trouble to prove himself 
right., .Again and again I have taken a 
problem to him, and have received an 
explanation which has afterwards proved to 
be the correct one* And yet he was 
absolutely incapable of working out the 
practical points which must be gone into 
before a case could be laid before a judge 
or jury," 

" It is not his profession, then ? " 
" By no means. What is to me a means 
of livelihood is to him the merest hobby of 
a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty 
for figures, and audits the books in some 
of the Government departments, Mycroft 
lodges in Pall Mall, and he walks round the 
corner into Whitehall every morning and 
back every evening. From year's end to 
year's end he takes no other exercise, and 
is seen nowhere else, except only in the 
Diogenes Club, which is just opposite his 

" I cannot recall the name." 

u Very likely not. 
There are many 
men in London, you 
know, who, some 
from shyness^ some 
from misanthropy, 
have no wish for the 
company of their 
fellows. Yet they 
are not averse to 
comfortable chairs 
and the latest peri- 
odicals- It is for 
the convenience of 
these that the 
Diogenes Club was 
started, and it now- 
con tains the most 
unsociable and un- 
clubbable men in 
town. No member 
is permitted to take 
the least notice of 
any other one. Save 
in the Strangers' 
Room, no talking is, 
under any circum- 
stances, permitted, 
and three offences, 
r C if brought to the 

y ' notice of the com- 

mittee, render the 
talker liable to ex- 
pulsion. My brother was one of the 
founders, and I have myself found it a very 
soothing atmosphere," 

We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, 
and were walking down it from the St. James' 
end, Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door 
some little distance from the Carlton, and, 
cautioning me not to speak, he led the way 
into the hall Through the glass panelling I 
caught a glimpse of a large and luxurious 
room in which a considerable number of 
men were sitting about and reading papers, 
each in his own little nook. Holmes showed 
me into a small chamber which looked out 
on to Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for a 
minute, he came back with a companion who 
I knew could only bo his brother 

Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and 
stouter man than Sherlock. His body was 
absolutely corpulent, but his face, , though 
massive, had preserved something of the 
sharpness of expression which was so re- 
markable in that of his brother. His eyes, 
which were of a peculiarly light watery grey, 
seemed to always retain that far-away, intro- 
spective lock which I had only observed 




in Sherlock's when he was exerting his full 

" I am glad to meet you, sir," said he, put- 
ting out a broad, fat hand, like the flipper of 
a seaL " I hear of Sherlock everywhere since 
you became his chronicler. By the way, 
Sherlock, I expected to see you round last 
week to consult me over that Manor House 
case. I thought you might be a little out of 
your depth." 

"No, I solved it," said my friend, smiling. 

" It was Adams, of course? '' 

" Yes, it was Adams." 

n I was sure of it from the first" The two 
sat down together in the 
bow-window of the club, 
M To anyone who wishes 
to study mankind this 
is the spot/'said Mycroft. 
** Look at the magnifi- 
cent types ! I^ook at 
these two men who are 
coming towards us, for 

"The billiard-marker 
and the other ? " 

"Precisely. What do 
you make of the other ? " 

The two men had 
stopped opposite the 
window. Some chalk 
marks over the waist- 
coat pocket were the 
only signs of billiards 
which I could see in 
one of them. The other 
was a very small dark 
fellow, with his hat 
pushed back and several 
packages under his arm, 

"An old soldier, I 
perceive," said Sherlock, 

" And very recently 
discharged, ' ? remarked 
the brother. 
"Served in India, I see." 

" And a noncommis- 
sioned officer. 3 ' 

"Royal Artillery, I fancy," said Sherlock. 

"And a widower." 

" But with a child" 

" Children, my dear boy, children," 

"Come," said I, laughing, "this is a little 
too much." 

" Surely," answered Holmes, " it is not 
hard to say that a man with that bearing, 
expression of authority, and sun-baked skin 
is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not 
long from India." 


by LiOOgle 

" That he has not left the service long is 
shown by his still wearing his i ammunition 
boots/ as they are called," observed MycrofL 
" He has not the cavalry stride, yet he 
wore his hat on one side, as is shown by the 
lighter skin on that side of his brow. His 
weight is against his being a sapper. He is 
in the artillery." 

"Then, of course, his complete mourning 
shows that he has lost someone very dear, 
The fact that he is doing his own shopping 
looks as though it were his wife. He has 
been buying things for children you perceive. 
There is a rattle, which shows that one of 
them is very young. The 
wife probably died in 
child-bed The fact that 
he has a picture-book 
under his arm shows that 
there is another child to 
be thought of." 

I began to understand 
what my friend meant 
when he said that his 
brother possessed even 
keener faculties than he 
did himself. He glanced 
across at me, and smiled, 
Mycroft took snuff from 
a tortoise-shell box, and 
brushed away the 
wandering grains from 
his coat front with a 
large, red silk handker- 

"By the way, Sher- 
lock," said he, "I have 
had something quite 
after your own heart — 
a most singular problem 
— submitted to my 
judgment I really had 
not the energy to follow 
it up, save in a very in- 
complete fashion, but it 
gave me a basis for some 
very pleasing specula- 
tions, If you would 

care to hear the facts " 

" My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted" 
The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf 
of his pocket-book, and ringing the hell, he 
handed it to the waiter, 

"I have asked Mr, Melas to step across," 
said he. " He lodges on the floor above me, 
and I have some slight acquaintance with 
him, which led him to come to me in his per- 
plexity. Ml Melas is a Greek by extraction, 
as I understaad^ArtEP'Kfe is a remarkable 




linguist He earns his living partly as 
interpreter in the law courts, and partly by 
acting as guide to any wealthy Orientals who 
may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. 
I think I will leave him to tell his very 
remarkable experience in his own fashion." 

A few minutes later we were joined by a 
short, stout man, whose olive face and coal- 
black hair proclaimed his southern origin, 
though his speech was that of an educated 
Englishman. He shook hands eagerly with 
Sherlock Holmes* and his dark eyes sparkled 
with pleasure when he understood that the 
specialist was anxious to hear his story* 

11 1 do not believe that the police credit 
me— on my word I do not,' 3 said he, in a 
wailing voice. "Just because they have 
never heard of it before, they think that such 
a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall 
never be easy in my mind until I know what 
has become of my poor man with the stick- 
ing-plaster upon his face." 

** I am all attention," said Sherlock 

"This is Wednesday evening," said Mr. 
Melas ; " well, then, it was on Monday night 
—only two days ago, you understand — that 
all this happened, I am an interpreter, as, 
perhaps, my neighbour there has told you, 
I interpret all languages — or nearly all — but 
as I am a Greek by birth, and with a Grecian 
name 3 it is with that par- 
ticular tongue that I am 
principally associated. 
For many years I have 
been the chief Greek in- 
terpreter in London, and 
my name is very well 
known in the hotels, 

" It happens, not un- 
frequently, that I am sent 
for at strange hours, by 
foreigners who get into 
difficulties, or by travellers 
who arrive late and wish 
my services. I was not 
surprised, therefore, on 
Monday night when a Mr 
Latimer, a very fashion- 
ahly-dressed young man, 
came up to my rooms and 
asked me to accompany 
him in a cab, which was 
waiting at the door* A 
Greek friend had come to 
see him upon business, 
he said, and, as he could 
speak nothing but his own 
tongue, the services of an 

interpreter were indispensable, He gave 
me to understand that his house was some 
little distance off, in Kensington, and he 
seemed to be in a great hurry, bustling 
me rapidly into the cab when we had 
descended to the street 

I say into the cab, but I soon became 
doubtful as to whether it was not a carriage 
in which 1 found myself. It was certainly 
more roomy than the ordinary four-w-heeled 
disgrace to London, and the fittings, though 
frayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer 
seated himself opposite to me, and we started 
off through Charing Cross and up the 
Shaftesbury Avenue* We had come out 
upon Oxford Street, and I had ventured some 
remark as to this being a roundabout way to 
Kensington, when my words were arrested by 
the extraordinary conduct of my companion. 

" He began by drawing a most formidable- 
looking bludgeon loaded with lead from his 
pocket, and switching it backwards and 
forwards several times, as if to test its weight 
and strength, Then he placed it, without a 
word, upon the seat beside him. Having done 
this he drew up the windows on each side, 
and I found to my astonishment that they 
were covered with paper so as to prevent my 
seeing through them* 

"'I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. 
Melas, 1 said he. 'The fact is that I have 



~^^nV j&hW 

!»■'. *%F 

p*> — -■ " - ^^^^fl 


1 A 




no intention that you should see what the 
place is to which we are driving. It might 
possibly be inconvenient to me if you could 
find your way there again.' 

"As you can imagine, I was utterly taken 
aback by such an address. My companion 
was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, 
and, apart from the weapon, I should not 
have had the slightest chance in a struggle 
with him. 

" ' This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. 
Latimer/ I stammered. ' You must be 
aware that what you are doing is quite 

iil It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,' 
said he, i but we'll make it up to you. But I 
must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at 
any time to-night you attempt to raise an alarm 
or do anything which is against my interests, 
you will find it a very serious thing. I beg 
you to remember that no one knows where 
you are, and that whether you are in this 
carriage or in my house, you are equally in 
my power.' 

"His words were quiet, but he had a rasping 
way of saying them which was very menacing. 
I sat in silence, wondering what on earth 
could be his reason for kidnapping me in this 
extraordinary fashion. Whatever it might be, 
it was perfectly clear that there was no pos- 
sible use in my resisting, and that I could 
only wait to see what might befall. 

" For nearly two hours we drove without 
my having the least clue as to where we were 
going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones 
told of a paved causeway, and at others our 
smooth, silent course suggested asphalte, but 
save by this variation in sound there was 
nothing at all which could in the remotest 
way help me to form a guess as to where we 
were. The paper over each window was 
impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain was 
drawn across the glass-work in front. It was 
a quarter past seven when we left Pall Mall, 
and my watch showed me that it was ten 
minutes to nine when we at last came to a 
standstill. My companion let down the 
window and I caught a glimpse of a low, 
arched doorway with a lamp burning above 
it. As I was hurried from the carriage it 
swung open, and I found myself inside the 
house, with a vague impression of a lawn and 
trees on each side of me as I entered. Whether 
these were private grounds, however, or bond- 
fide country was more than I could possibly 
venture to say. 

"There was a coloured gas-lamp insidewhich 
was turned so low that I could see little save 
that the hall was of some size and hung with 

pictures. In the dim light I could make out 
that the person who had opened the door 
was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man 
with rounded shoulders. As he turned 
towards us the glint of the light showed me 
that he was wearing glasses. 

" ' Is this Mr. Melas, Harold ? ' said he. 

" * Yes ' 

" ' Well done ! Well done ! No ill-will, 
Mr. Melas, I hope, but we could not get on 
without you. If you deal fair with us you'll 
not regret it ; but if you try any tricks, God 
help you ! ' 

" He spoke in a jerky, nervous fashion, and 
with little giggling laughs in between, but 
somehow he impressed me with fear more 
than the other. 

" ' What do you want with me ? ' I asked. 

" ' Only to ask a few questions of a Greek 
gentleman who is visiting us, and to let us 
have the answers. But say no more than 
you are told to say, or ' — here came the 
nervous giggle again — i you had better never 
have been born.' 

"As he spoke he opened a door and showed 
the way into a room which appeared to be 
very richly furnished — but again the only 
light was afforded by a single lamp half turned 
down. The chamber was certainly large, and 
the way in which my feet sank into the carpet 
as I stepped across it told me of its richness. 
I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a high, 
white marble mantelpiece and what seemed 
to be a suit of Japanese armour at one side 
of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, 
and the elderly man motioned that I should 
sit in it. The younger had left us, but he 
suddenly returned through another door, 
leading with him a gentleman clad in some 
sort of loose dressing-gown, who moved 
slowly towards us. As he came into the 
circle of dim light which enabled me 
to see him more clearly, I was thrilled 
with horror at his appearance. He was 
deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with the 
protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whose 
spirit is greater than his strength. But what 
shocked me more than any signs of physical 
weakness was that his face was grotesquely 
criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that 
one large pad of it was fastened over his 

" ' Have you the slate, Harold ? ' cried the 
older man, as this strange being fell rather 
than sat down into a chair. ' Are his hands 
loose ? Now then, give him the pencil. You 
are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and he 
will write the answers. Ask him first of all 
whether he is prepared to sign the papers.' 



30 1 


"The man's eyes flashed fire, 

" ' Never,' he wrote in Greek upon the 

{ "On no conditions? 5 I asked at the 
bidding of our tyrant 

" 4 Only if I see her married in my presence 
by a Greek priest whom I know/ 

"Tlie man giggled in his venomous way. 

" i You know what awaits you then ? ' 

" * I care nothing for myself/ 

"These are samples of the questions and 
answers which made up our strange half- 
spoken, half-written conversation. Again 
and again I had to ask him whether he would 
give in and sign the document. Again and 
again I had the same indignant reply. But 
soon a happy thought came to me, I took 
to adding on little sentences of my own 
to each question — innocent ones at first to 
test whether either of our companions knew 
anything of the matter, and then, as I found 
that they showed no sign, I played a more 
dangerous game. Our conversation ran 
something like this : — 

" * You can do no good by this obstinacy, 

"*'"*" !,, ized by Google 

" 'I care not lam 
a stranger in London? 

" * Your fate will be 
on your own head. 
How long have you 
been here t ' 

'"Let it be so. 
Three weeks? 

" L The property can 
never be yours* What 
ails you ? J 

" * It shall not go 
to villains. They are 
starving me? 

" ' You shall go free 
if you sign. What 
house is this f ' 

" * I will never sign. 
I do not know? 

" ' You are not doing 
her any service, IVhat 
is your name ? ' 

" * Let me hear her 
say so. Kratides? 

'"You shall see her 
if you sign. Where are 
you from V 

'"Then I shall 
never see her. Athens? 
" Another five 
minutes, Mr. Holmes, 
and I should have 
wormed out the whole 
s t ory u nder t h eir very noses. M y very n ex t que s- 
tion might have cleared the matter up, but at 
that instant the door opened and a woman 
stepped into the room. 1 could not see her 
clearly enough to know more than that she 
was tall and graceful, with black hair, and 
clad in some sort of loose, white gown. 

'"Harold!' said she, speaking English 
with a broken accent, ' I could not stay away 
longer. It is so lonely up there with only — 
oh, my God, it is Paul ! J 

11 These last words were in Greek* and at the 
same instant the man, with a convulsive 
effort, tore the plaster from his lips, and 
screaming out * Sophy ! Sophy! 1 rushed into 
the woman's arms, Their embrace was but 
for an instant, however, for the younger man 
seized the woman and pushed her out of the 
room, while the elder easily overpowered his 
emaciated victim, and dragged him away 
through the other door. For a moment I 
was left alone in the room, and I sprang 
to my feet with some vague idea that I 
might in some way get a clue to what this 
house was in which I found myself, Fortu- 
nately, howilfflqinfet<fofenno steps, for, looking 




'* sorny ! sufBV t " 

up, I saw that the older man was standing in 
the doorway, with his eyes fixed upon me. 
41 'That will do, Mr, Melas/ said he. 

* You perceive that we have taken you into 
our confidence over some very private busi- 
ness We should not have troubled you only 
that our friend who speaks Greek and who 
began these negotiations has been forced to 
return to the East It was quite necessary 
for us to find someone to take his place, and 
w T e were fortunate in hearing of your powers* 1 

" I bowed. 

fi * There are five sovereigns here/ said he, 
walking up to me, * which will, I hope, be a 
sufficient fee. But remember,' he added, 
tapping me lightly on the chest and giggling, 

* if you speak to a human soul about this — 
one human soul mind ? well, may God have 
mercy upon your soul ! ' 

" I cannot tell you the loathing and horror 
with which this insignificant-looking man 
inspired me. I could see him better now as 
the lamp-light shone upon him. His features 
were peaty and sallow, and his little, pointed 

beard was thready 
and ill nourished 
He pushed his face 
forward as he spoke, 
and his lips and eye- 
lids were continually 
twitching like a man 
with St. Vitus's 
dance, 1 could not 
help thinking that his 
strange, catchy little 
laugh was also a 
symptom of some 
nervous malady. The 
terror of his face lay 
in his eyes, however, 
steel grey, and glis- 
tening coldly, with a 
malignant, inex- 
orable cruelty in their 

iU We shall know 
if you speak of this,' 
said he. * We have 
our own means of 
information. Now, 
you will find the car- 
riage waiting, and my 
friend will see you on 
your way,' 

" I was hurried 
through the hall, and 
into the vehicle, again 
obtaining that mo- 
mentary glimpse of 
trees and a garden. Mr. I j\ timer fol- 
lowed closely at my heels, and took his 
place opposite to me without a word. In 
silence w*e again drove for an interminable 
distance, with the windows raised, until at 
last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled 

"'You will get down here, Mr. Melas/ 
said my companion* * I am sorry to leave 
you so far from your house, but there is no 
alternative. Any attempt upon your part to 
follow the carriage can only end in injury to 

"He opened the door as he spoke, and I 
had hardly time to spring out when the 
coachman lashed the horse, and the carriage 
rattled a way* I looked round mc in astonish- 
ment. I was on some sort of a heathy com- 
mon, mottled over with dark clumps of furze 
bushes. Far away stretched a line of houses 
with a light here and there in the upper win- 
dows. On the other side I saw the red signal 
lamps of a railway. 

11 The cairiigc which had brought me was 




already out of sight I stood gazing round 
and wondering where on earth I might be, 
when I saw someone coming towards me in 
the darkness. 
As he came up 
to me I made 
out that it was 
a Tail way porter. 
" * Can you tell 
me what place 
this is ? ' I asked, 
" ( Wandsworth 
Common/ said 

" 'Can I get 
a train into 
town ? ' 

" * If you walk 
on a mile or so, 
to C 1 a p h a m 
Junction/ said 
he, 'you'll just 
be in time for 
the last to Vic- 

"So that was 
the end of my 
adventure, Mr, 
Holmes. I do 
not know where 
I was nor whom 
I spoke with, nor 
anything, save 
what I have told 
you. But I 
know that there is foul play going on, and I 
want to help that unhappy man if I can* I 
told the whole story to Mr, Mycroft Holmes 
next morning and, subsequently, to the 

We all sat in silence for some little time 
after listening to this extraordinary narrative. 
Then Sherlock looked across at his brother. 

** Any steps,?" he asked. 

Mycroft picked up the Daily JVews, which 
was lying on a side table. 

" * Anybody supplying any information as 
to the whereabouts of a Greek gentleman 
named Paul K rat ides, from Athens, who is 
unable to speak English, will be rewarded, 
A similar reward paid to anyone giving in- 
formation about a Greek lady whose first 
name is Sophy, X 2473.' That was in all 
the dailies. No answer." 

" How about the G reek Legation ? " 

" I have inquired. They know nothing." 

" A wire to the head of the Athens police, 
. "Sherlock has alt the energy of the family," 

said Mycroft, turning to me. "Well, you 
take the case up by all means, and let me 
know if you do any good." 

answered my 
friend, rising 
from his chair. 
"Til let you 
know, and Mr, 
Melas also. In 
the meantime, 
Mr. Melas, I 
should certainly 
be on my guard, 
if I were you, 
for, of course, 
they must know 
through these 
that you have 
betrayed them." 
As we walked 
home together 
Holmes stopped 
at a telegraph 
office and sent 
off several wires, 
"You see, 
Watson/* he re- 
marked, *'our 
evening has been 
by no means 
wasted. Some of 
my most in ter- 
es ting cases have 
come to me in this way through Mycroft. 
The problem which we have just listened to, 
although it can admit of but one explanation, 
has still some distinguishing features." 
"You have hopes of solving it?" 
" Well, knowing as much as we do, it will 
be singular indeed if we fail to discover the 
rest. You must yourself have formed some 
theory which will explain the facts to which 
we have listened." 

" In a vague way, yes." 
" What was your idea then ? " 
" It seemed to me to be obvious that this 
Greek girl had been carried off by the young 
Englishman named Harold Latimer," 
" Carried off from where ? " 
" Athens, perhaps." 

Sherlock Holmes shook his head. " This 
young man could not talk a word of Greek. 
The lady could talk English fairly well. 
Inference that she had been in England 
some little time, but he had not been in 
Vireece. Original from 

'TfiftMmflfflSRif that she ** 




is correct, and 
Sophy Kratides, 

come on a visit to England, and that this 
Harold had persuaded her to fly with him." 

11 That is the more probable," 

11 Then the brother — for that, I fancy* must 
be the relationship — comes over from Greece 
to interfere. He imprudently puts himself 
into the power of the young man and his 
older associate. They seize him and use 
violence towards him in order to make him 
sign some papers to make over the girl's 
fortune — of which he may be trustee — to 
them. This he refuses to do. In order to 
negotiate with him they have to get an 
interpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. 
Melas, having used some other one before* 
The girl is not told of the arrival of her 
brother, and finds it out by the merest 

"Excellent, Watson," cried Holmes. "I 
really fancy that you are not far from the 
truth. You see that we hold all the cards, 
and we have only to fear some sudden act of 
violence on their part. If they give us time 
we must have them. ,T 

u But how can we find where this house 
lies ? " 

" Well, if our conjecture 
the girl's name is, or was, 
we should have no difficulty 
in tracing her. That must 
be our main hope, for the 
brother, of course, is a 
complete stranger, It is 
clear that some time has 
elapsed since this Harold 
established these relations 
with the girl— ^some weeks 
at any rate — since the 
brother in Greece has had 
time to hsar of it and come 
across. If they have been 
living in the same place 
during this time, it is 
probable that we shall have 
some answer to Mycroft's 

We had reached our 
house in Baker Street 
whilst we had been talking. 
Holmes ascended the stairs 
first, and as he opened the 
door of our room he gave 
a start of surprise. Look- 
ing over his shoulder I was 
equally astonished. His 
brother Mycroft was sitting 
smoking in the arm-chair. 

"Come in, Sherlock! 
Come in, sir," said he, 

blandly, smiling at our surprised faces, 
lt You don't expect such energy from me, do 
you, Sherlock ? But somehow this case attracts 

"How did you get here ? " 

" I passed you in a hansom," 

" There has been some new development ? " 

M I had an answer to my advertisement" 

"Ah! JJ 

" Yes ; it came within a few minutes of 
your leaving." 

"And to what effect?'* 

Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper, 

* Here it is/ h said he, " written with a J 
pen on royal cream paper by a middle- 
aged man with a weak constitution, 'Sir/ 
he says, ' in answer to your advertisement of 
to-day's date, I beg to inform you that I 
know the young lady in question very well. 
If you should care to call upon me, I could 
give you some particulars as to her painful 
history. She is living at present at The 
Myrtles, Beckenham, Yours faithfully, J. 

" He writes from Lower Brixton," said 
Mycroft Holmes. " Do you not think that 
we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and 
learn these particulars ? " 


'COMB IN,' 4»JHlJta"lwlAt4M.VJf 




"My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is 
more valuable than the sister's story. I 
think we should call at Scotland Yard for 
Inspector Gregson, and go straight out to 
Beckenham. We know that a man is being 
done to death, and every hour may be vital." 

" Better pick up Mr. Melas upon our way," 
I suggested; "we may need an interpreter." 

" Excellent ! " said Sherlock Holmes. 
" Send the boy for a four-wheeler, and we 
shall be off at once." He opened the table- 
drawer as he spoke, and I noticed that he 
slipped his revolver into his pocket " Yes," 
said he, in answer to my glance, " I should 
say from what we have heard that we are 
dealing with a particularly dangerous gang." 

It was almost dark before we found our- 
selves in Pall Mall, at the rooms of Mr. 
Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, 
and he was gone. 

" Can you tell me where ? " asked Mycroft 

" I don't know, sir," answered the woman 
who had opened the door. " I only know 
that he drove away with the gentleman in a 

" Did the gentleman give a name ? " 

"No, sir." 

" He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young 

" Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, 
with glasses, thin in the face, but very 
pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all 
the time that he was talking." 

" Come along ! " cried Sherlock Holmes, 
abruptly. "This grows serious ! " he observed, 
as we drove to Scotland Yard. " These men 
have got hold of Melas again. He is a man 
of no physical courage, as they are well aware 
from their experience the other night This 
villain was able to terrorize him the instant 
that he got into his presence. No doubt they 
want his professional services; but, having 
used him, they may be inclined to punish him 
for what they will regard as his treachery." 

Our hope was that by taking train we might 
get to Beckenham as soon as, or sooner, than 
the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, 
however, it was more than an hour before we 
could get Inspector Gregson and comply 
with the legal formalities which would enable 
us to enter the house. It was a quarter to ten 
before we reached London Bridge, and half- 
past before the four of us alighted on the 
Beckenham platform. A drive of half a 
mile brought us to the Myrtles — a large, dark 
house standing back from the road in its own 
grounds. Here we dismissed our cab, and 
made our way up the drive together. 

• Vol. vL-40. 

Digitized by LjOOgle 

" The windows are all dark," remarked the 
Inspector. " The house seems deserted." 

" Our birds are flown and the nest empty," 
said Holmes. 

" Why do you say so ? " 

"A carriage heavily loaded with luggage 
has passed out during the last hour." 

The Inspector laughed. " I saw the wheel 
tracks in the light of the gate-lamp, but 
where does the luggage come in ? " 

" You may have observed the same wheel- 
tracks going the other way. But the outward- 
bound ones were very much deeper— so much 
so that we can say for a certainty that there 
was a very considerable weight on the car- 

" You get a trifle beyond me there," said 
the Inspector, shrugging his shoulders. " It 
will not be an easy doer to force. But 
we will try if we cannot make someone 
hear us." 

He hammered loudly at the knocker and 
pulled at the bell, but without any success. 
Holmes had slipped away, but he came back 
in a few minutes. 

" I have a window open," said he. 

" It is a mercy that you are on the side of 
the force, and not against it, Mr. Holmes," 
remarked the Inspector, as he noted the 
clever way in which my friend had forced 
back the catch. " Well, I think that, under 
the circumstances, we may enter without 
waiting for an invitation." 

One after the other we made our way into 
a large apartment, which was evidently that 
in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The 
Inspector had lit his lantern, and by its light 
we could see the two doors, the curtain, the 
lamp and the suit of Japanese mail as he had 
described them. On the table lay two glasses, 
an empty brandy bottle, and the remains of a 

" What is that? " asked Holmes, suddenly. 

We all stood still and listened. A low, 
moaning sound was coming from somewhere 
above our heads. Holmes rushed to the 
door and out into the hall. The dismal 
noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, 
the Inspector and I at his heels, while his 
brother, Mycroft, followed as quickly as his 
great bulk would permit 

Three doors faced us upon the second 
floor, and it was from the central of these 
that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking 
sometimes into a dull mumble and rising 
again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but 
the key was on the outside. Holmes flung 
open the door and rushed in, but he was out 
again in an instant with his hand to his throat 

■_-l I '_| 1 1 I u I \\\ 


3 06 


il It's charcoal," he cried. 
" Give it time. It will clear," 

Peering in we could see 
that the only light in the 
room came from a dull, blue 
flame f which flickered from 
a small brass tripod in the 
centre. It threw a livid, 
unnatural circle upon the 
floor, while in the shadows 
beyond we saw the vague 
loom of two figures, which 
crouched against the wall 
From the open door there 
reeked a horrible, poisonous 
exhalation, which set us 
gasping and coughing. 
Holmes rushed to the top 
of the stairs to draw in the 
fresh air, and then, dashing 
into the room, he threw up 
the window and hurled the 
brazen tripod out into the 

"We can enter in a 
minute," he gasped, darting 
out again, "Where is a 
candle? I doubt if we 
could strike a match in that 
atmosphere. Hold the light 
at the door and we shall get 
them out, MycrofL Now ! " 

With a rush we got to the 
poisoned men and dragged 
them out on to the 
of them were blue lipped 
with swollen, congested faces and protruding 
eyes. Indeed, so distorted were their features 
that save for his black beard and stout figure 
we might have failed to recognise in one of 
them the Greek interpreter who had parted 
from us only a few hours before at the 
Diogenes Club, His hands and feet were 
securely strapped together, and he bore over 
one eye the mark of a violent blow. The 
other, who was secured in a similar fashion, 
was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation t 
with several strips of sticking-plaster arranged 
in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had 
ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a 
glance showed me that for him, at least, our 
aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however, 
still lived, and in less than an hour, with the 
aid of ammonia and brandy, I had the 
satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and 
of knowing that my hand had drawn him 
back from the dark valley in which all paths 

It was a simple story which he had to tell, 

Digitized by W 

landing. Both 
and insensible, 


and one which did but confirm our own 
deductions* His visitor on entering his 
rooms had drawn a life preserver from his 
sleeve, and had so impressed him with the 
fear of instant and in evitable death, that he had 
kidnapped him for the second time* Indeed, 
it was almost mesmeric the effect which this 
giggling ruffian had produced upon the un- 
fortunate linguist, for he could not speak of 
him save with trembling hands and a blanched 
cheek. He had been taken swiftly to Beck- 
enham, and had acted as interpreter in a 
second interview, even more dramatic than 
the first, in which the two Englishmen hod 
menaced their prisoner w T ith instant di?ath if 
he did not comply with their demands. 
Finally, finding him proof against every threat, 
they had hurled him back into his prison, 
and after reproaching Melas with his 
treachery, which appeared from the news- 
paper advertisement, they had stunned him 
with a blow from a stick, and he remembered 
nothing more until he found us bending over 

And this was the singular case of the 




Grecian Interpreter, the explanation of which 
is still involved in some mystery. We were 
able to find out, by communicating with 
the gentleman who had answered the 
advertisement, that the unfortunate young 
lady came of a wealthy Grecian family, and 
that she had been on a visit to some friends 
in England While there she had met a 
young man named Harold Latimer, who had 
acquired an ascendancy over her, and had 
eventually persuaded her to fly with him. 
Her friends, shocked at the event, had 
contented themselves with informing her 
brother at Athens, and had then washed 
their hands of the matter. The brother, on 
his arrival in England, had imprudently 
placed himself in the power of Latimer, and 
of his associate, whose name was Wilson 
Kemp — a man of the foulest antecedents. 
These two, finding that through his ignorance 
of the language he was helpless in their 
hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had 
endeavoured, by cruelty and starvation, to 
make him sign away his own and his sister's 
property. They had kept him in the house 
without the girl's knowledge, and the plaster 
over the face had been for the purpose of 
making recognition difficult in case she 
should ever catch a glimpse of him. Her 

feminine perceptions, however, had instantly 
seen through the disguise when, on the 
occasion of the interpreter's first visit, she 
had seen him for the first time. The poor 
girl, however, was herself a prisoner, for there 
was no one about the house except the man 
who acted as coachman, and his wife, both 
of whom were tools of the conspirators. 
Finding that their secret was out and that 
their prisoner was not to be coerced, the two 
villains, with the girl, had fled away at a few 
hours' notice from the furnished house 
which they had hired, having first, as they 
thought, taken vengeance both upon the 
man who had defied and the one who had 
betrayed them. 

Months afterwards a curious newspaper 
cutting reached us from Buda-Pesth. It told 
how two Englishmen who had been travelling 
with a woman had met with a tragic end. 
They had each been stabbed, it seems, and 
the Hungarian police were of opinion that 
they had quarrelled and had inflicted mortal 
injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, 
is, I fancy, of a different way of thinking, 
and he holds to this day that if one could 
find the Grecian girl one might learn how the 
wrongs of herself and her brother came to 
be avenged. 

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Original from 


visitor occa- 
sionally finds 
in out-of-the- 
way places 
primitive forms of dials, such as were used 
in Saxon, Norman, Early English, and 
mediaeval times, and which, naturally enough^ 
have a special charm of their own, A good 
hunting-ground for them, it seems to me, 
is on the south walls or doorways of our 
Norman and Early English churches, 
especially those which have escaped so-called 

There is one at Lyminge, on the south 
wall of the venerable church, well worthy of 
notice. The church itself, Be van quotes as 
being one of the three most interesting in 
Kent, as well as one of the most ancient 
in the country. It has distinct traces of 
Roman and Anglo-Saxon masonry, the fact 
being that a Roman basilica first of all 
existed there, then a Saxon church was built 
on its site, and later another church, which 
was added to by different Archbishops — 
Wareham, Cardinal Morton, and others. 

Of the basilica, the foundations and por- 
tions of the apse were brought to light by the 
efforts of the well-known enthusiast in things 
antiquarian, Canon Jenkins (who is rector 
and vicar of Lyminge) ; he himself telling 
me many interesting facts pertaining to the 
dial. It is cut rudely, but to a considerable 
depth, on a stone which undoubtedly origin- 
ally formed part of a Roman villa (Villa 

Maxima de Lyminge), and i*> now built as 
one of the corner stones into the south wall 
of the nave, which wall was St Dunstan's 
work (about 965 a.d,). Its position is about 
5ft 411L above the present ground level, and 
about 14ft, to the right of an inscription 
painting out the burial-place of St Ethel- 
burga, the Queen (633—647 a.d*), daughter 
of King Ethelbert and wife of Edwin of 

At Mcrsham — a little village between 
Smeeth and Ash ford — there are to be seen 

ur mince; 

by Google 

Original from 



traces of no fewer than seven ancient circular 
dials on the sooth doorway of the church 
(mainly Early English), five being on the 
right-hand side and two on the left, a 
protecting porch of later date helping 
to preserve them. The largest one 
measures gin, in diameter, and is 
still very distinct, the hole where the 
style, or gnomon, had originally been 
is deep, and about 3ft above ground- 
level, and the radiating hour lines, 
ten In number, are regular in their 
disposition and end in little drilled 
holes. The other dials are irregular, 
partially obliterated, and so arbitrary 
in their arrangement that it is some- 
what puzzling to decide as to how 
they could all of them have possibly 
told the same time. 

At Barfreston Church is a dial 
somewhat of the same type carved on 
the left-hand side of the richly- 
decorated Norman south doorway ; 

and at Patrixboume, on a similar doorway, 
traces of four dials may be distinctly seen. 

Smeeth and Swingfield 
churches both possess dials of a 
like character, but in the latter 
case they have been partly choked 
up with cement, apparently at 
the time of the restoration of the 
church a few years ago. 

At VVarehorne Church {mainly 
Early English) is a stone built 
into the wall about 4ft, above the 
present ground level and ift to 
the right of a south doorway, 
upon which is carved an ancient 
vertical dial, which evidently be- 
longed to a still earlier edifice* 

In Dover Museum is a curious 
type of dial which, according to 
Mr. Loftus Urock, is of Roman 
workmanship. It was found in 
1862, in Dover, on the site of 
the ancient Church of St. 
Marti n's-le-G rand (founded by 
Wictred, King of Kent, 693— 
725 a.d.). It is a cube of oolite, 
between four and five inches 
square, with one heart-shaped, 
two semi-cylindrical, and two 
triangular-formed dials hollowed 
out of its sides. The Rev. R. 
Dixon, another expert on the 
subject, is of opinion that it was 
an engraved horizontal dial, made 
originally for some site in Central 
France or Switzerland, and brought 
to Dover with the expectation that It would 
give the correct solar time there, A similar 
mistake was made in the year 263 E.c. t by 
Valerius Messala, who, under the same belief, 

-xfV^g merit- oY* 


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Original from 

3 io 



miniature loaded cannon, timed to go off 
each day at noon : it is made of metal and 
is fixed to a circular slab of marble, about a 
foot and a half in diameter, upon which are 
cut the radiating hour-lines of the dial and 
its maker's name, as follows : — 

" Victor Chevalier Jng* Brev* Quai de 
l'Horloge 77 * Paris." 


*\\ '*** 

brought a Sicilian sun-dial to Rome. But 
which ever view is right (and both theories are 
of interest) it seems to me to be more 
fascinating to dream about the story of the 
centuries this sun-kissed stone — had it 
speech — could tell us, ere it was ticketed and 
shelved in a local museum. 

One does not often come across a cannon 
sun-dial, like the one given in my sketch. It 
is in the entrance-hall of Chillington Manor 
House j now Maidstone Museum, and em- 
bodies a decidedly ingenious idea My 
readers will note that a burning-glass is 
carefully focused over the touchhole of a 

On S^npvetinb Hill 

Svn'difeJ if\ 



Original from 

On the ruins of 
Wingfield Manor, in 
Derbyshire^ are still to 
be seen two dials, 
simple in form and 
design, which were 
placed there some time 
about 1678 by Im- 
manuel Halton, astro- 
nomer and mathema- 
tician, to whom the 
Manor House then be* 
longed, and who during 
his life made many 
alterations to render 



the place, shat- 
tered by Crom- 
well and his fol- 
io wers^ fit for 
his abode. The 
dial given is over 
the bay window 
of the Banquet* 
ing Hall — ■ the 
fine tracery of 
which still re- 
mains intact — the 
other being 
placed over one 
of the windows 
adjoining the 
Slate rooms. 
Wingfield Manor 
House is rich in 
historic associa- 
tions. It is men- 
tioned in Dooms- 
day Book, and 
was given by 
William of Nor- 
mandy to his ille- 
gitimate son, 
William PevereL 
It afterwards be- 
came the home 
of Ralph, Lord 
Cromwell (Henry 
YL, Treasurer of 
the Exchequer). 
Mary Queen of 
Scots passed 
many long 
months of cap- 
tivity there in one 
of the western 
apartments of the 
inner quad- 
rangle, and later 
it was the scene 
of one of the 
most obstinately 
contested strug- 
gles that mark 
that unhappy 
period when King 
Charles I. fought 
for his crown and 
his Parliament for its power. 

At the little village of Denton, a few miles 
from Canterbury T in a cottage garden, stands 
a fine red brick and plaster dial of quite 
another type. It is about fifty years old, 
and was built by one Richard Webb, a 
master mason ; the workmanship is truly 

by Google 

excellent, the 
mortar - joints 
throughout not 
king more than 
one-sixteenth of 
an inch in thick- 
ness. The porch 
of the cottage is 
by the same cun- 
ning hand, and 
attracts much 
attention by rea- 
son of its fine 

Minster, Dorset, 
boasts a dial 
which must not 
be missed. It is 
dated 1732, and 
used to be 
perched on the 
gable of the north 
transept; but 
when Mr, J. L. 
Pearson, R.A., 
the eminent 
architect, restored 
the church some 
few years ago, it 
was taken down 
and placed tem- 
porarily under the 
yew tree in the 
Minster yard, 
where, alas ! 
it stands 
"unto this 
day. JJ It was 
not deemed 
desirable, owing 
to its great weight, 
to replace it in 
ts original posi- 
tion, and Mr. 
Pearson has de- 
signed for it a 
fine pedestal, so 
that it can even- 
tually be placed 
somewhere to the 
south-west of the 
Minster yard ; a lack of funds being the 
only preventive to this becoming un fait 
accompli* It is of stone, 6ft. in height ; 
its south face is 4ft. in width, and its east 
and west faces 3ft, respectively, each of 
which bears a gnomon — a somewhat unusual 

Original from 



In the garden of the residence of 
J, Cress well, Esq., C.E., at Dover, 
is a dial with five gnomons upon a 
handsome stone pedestal ; the plate 
is of slate, designed and engraved 
by JL Melvin, London, but no date 
js given. The largest gnomon is in 
the centre, and the four smaller, of 
equal dimensions, at each corner 
Upon the plate are engraved three 
mottoes, as follows : — ■ 

" Sic transit gloria mundi " 
(So passe/A the glory of t/ie world 


" Horas non numero nisi serenas " 

(I count the bright hours only). 

"Sol non oxidat super iracundiam 

vestram " 
(Let not t/icsun go doitm upon your wrath), 
Ephes, iv. 26, 
The large gnomon in the centre of the 
plate gives our own solar time ? that in the 
N,W. corner gives New York time (morn- 
ing), that in the N.E, corner Alexandria 
time (afternoon), that in the SAV, Isle of 
Borneo time (evening), and that in the 
S.E. corner New Zealand time (night). 
On the outer border of the central dial, 
immediately beyond the numerals, the 

In &, garden 

by L^OOgle 

Original from 



IL" Before saying good - bye to this 
pleasant example of dial-craft let us glance 
at the castle ruins, which consist of an 
octagonal Norman keep of three stories, 
the remainder having been pulled down at 
different times. The first defensive posi- 
tion here was probably a Roman camp, 
and subsequently to this it was said that 
King Lucius, a Brito-Ro man chief, erected 
a fortressj afterwards enlarged by the Saxon 
kings. After the Conquest it came into the 
hands of Sir Fulbert de Dover (one of the 
Dover Castle Knights) ■ and in the seven- 
teenth century Sir Dudley Digges erected 
an entirely new house, which descended 
from him to the Colebrooks (whose arms 
are upon the dial), and lastly to the family 

names of sixty-nine places are engrave d } so 
that practically the time the world over may 
be readily calculated- The outside measure 
of the pedestal is slightly under 2ft square, 
and the whole is rather over 4ft. in height 
It is picturesquely situated on the Dover Hills 
— Dover Castle, which is quite close, lying 
due east of it ; in short, it is a fascinating 
and singularly complete dial, with a delightful 

A few miles from Canterbury, in the 
beautiful grounds which surround Chilham 
Castle and House, is a richly designed dial, 
which was put up between 1741 and 1774. 
The pedestal, elaborately carved, is of stone 
much weathered and time-worn ; the metal 
plate is richly engraved, and hears the crest 
and arms of the Colebrooks — a Hampshire 
family — and the makers name, "Thomas 
Wright, Instrument Maker to H.AL George 

Vol ft- 

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Original from 



of the Hardys, its 
present owners, to 
whose courtesy I am 
indebted for permis- 
sion to make the sketch 
and for the informa- 
tion here given. 

In the churchyard, 
which is adjacent to 
the Castle grounds, is 
a dial in all probability 
designed by the famous 
Inigo Jones — note the 
graceful form of the 
stone shaft and 
simple line of 
g nom on, with i ts 
curious stout copper 
support, which Mr, 
Charles Hardy told me 
was placed there after 
an attempt had 
been made to 
wrench the 
gnomon from 
the plate. The 
maker's name, 
**G. Stedman, 
London, 7 ' but 
with no date t is 
engraved on the 

In Dean Hole's 
garden, at Ro- 
ches ter : is a stone 
dial, shaped 
somewhat like a 
thick, short 
anchor, sur- 
m ou n ting a 
simple square 
pedestal; it 
marks the 
between the two 
parishes of St. 
Margaret and St. 
Nicholas. The Dean pointed out to me 
that the anchor part turns readily on a pivot, 
and on the south side of the pedestal is fixed 
an engraved metal plate, giving a table of 
equations, by which the anchor may be ad- 
justed to tell the true time at any period of 
the year, The total height is about 5ft. 6in., 
and the whole is of grey stone ; and so 
covered over with moss and damp-stain was 
it, that I had to scrape a considerable 
amount of it off bufore I could decipher 
even one single numeral. 

by Google 

On the Isle of Thanet, 
about midway between Mar- 
gate and Ramsgate, is the 
pleasant, straggling little village 
of Minster, which possesses two 
ancient dials worthy of note, 
The one of which I give a 
sketch stands hard by the 
western gate of the yard of 
the church, and has seen con- 
siderably better days, though 
it bears proof of having been 
lovingly tended of late years. 
Inscribed around the dial are 
the dates of three several 
restorations — in 1841, 1873, 
and again in 1890; the last, 
apparently^ being by Langley 
Brothers, of St. Lawrence. 
Carved deeply and boldly into 
flat members of 
the oaken shaft 
is a date, 1641, 
and the initials 
W. H. and G, R, 
The dial has a 
curious cut - off 
look^ and one is 
led to suppose by 
its general pro- 
portions that the 
shaft was origin- 
ally very much 
taller 3 but had, 
probably, be- 
come rotten 
through the 
extreme damp, 
and had broken 
off, only to be 
set up again in 
shortened form ; 
or, can it be that, 
as the years have 
rolled on — for 
1 64 1 is a long, 
long time ago — 
that it has become partially buried by ever- 
thickening graves and surface accumulations? 
It is worth while to glance at the church, 
which is cruciform ; it has a Norman nave, 
Early English transepts and choir, in which 
are some humorously carved Miserere stalls. 
An old chained Bible and a chest made out 
of an oak trunk are, too, to be seen. Close by, 
to the east of the church, on one of the 
chimneys of Minster Court (which dates from 
the twelfth century), is the other dial to which 
1 referred; it was originally painted white 




with black numerals, and was restored by 
J. Swiniford, Esq., in 1856, who then placed 
that date and his initials above the then 
existing motto upon the dial, which runs as 
follows : "Tempora hbuntur quns nobis 

whose days are verily numbered. It is 
moss - grown, weather - beaten, time - worn, 
warped, and rotten to the core ; but, nath- 
less, a delightfully picturesque one- I gathered 
that Mr. Reginald Blomfield, the well- 
known architect (son of the present rector), 
was about to design an entirely new shaft 
for it, so one was glad of the opportunity, 
ere it was swept away, of making the 
sketch here given. It bears one of the most 
popular of all dial mottoes, "Pereunt et im- 
putantur/' and immediately underneath its 
free translation, M The hours pass and are 
reckoned." A date, 1799, the initials! 1 . M. 
(Thomas Mills) and W. M. (William Mar- 
shall), who were once churchwardens of 
Aldington, are painted just below the motto, 

pereunt et imputantur." (Time glides 
f{)\ which perishes for us and is reckoned.) 
Tramp a couple of miles across country 
from Srneeth Station, and one comes to 
the little, old-world place of Aldington, 
where once the Archbishops of Canter- 
bury had a hunting palace* Its church 
(of which Erasmus was rector in 151 1) 
has a noble tower (built hy Archbishop 
Ware ham, in Henry VIL's time), stand- 
ing on an eminence facing Romney 
Marsh — a landmark for many a mile 
around In the surrounding iv garden 
of sleep" is a dial on a wooden *haft, 

by Google 

Original from 



the whole resembling an attenuated-looking 

Besides several ancient dials on the south 
doorway of the Norman and Early English 
church of Smeeth, which I have previously 
mentioned, there is, hard by the pathway 
leading to the south porch, a dear, old- 
fashioned, picturesque - looking dial. The 
pedestal is of oak, rusty black, set on a little 
square platform of reddish - brown, moss- 
covered, and grass - grown tiles, which are 
bordered by four oaken timbers heavily 
clamped with iron. The dial-plate is eight 
inches square, and the gnomon is supported 
by a stout copper rod in the same curious 
manner as the one at Chilham. The initials 
E, H. and G \\\ (churchwardens), and the 

Lympne (the Portus 
Lemanis of the Romans, 
and one of their great 
garrison stations), now a 
decayed village, possesses a 
type of dial in the church- 
yard which I imagine has 
no counterpart. The circu- 
lar plate is old, and, too, 
ihe brickwork of the base, 
but the shaft and dial -table 
(around the latter of which, 
in raised letters, is the oft- 
repeated motto : H Pereunt 
et Imputantur"), are of 
comparatively modern cast- 
iron; the general effect of 

by Google 

Original from 


7Z Over V doqc^y of* 


as a donkey's), bearing scythe and 
hour-glass. He is represented tread- 
ing upward and onward on his dark 

There is another dial at Rye, on 
the Court House or Town Hall, of 
which I am able to give a sketch. 
It was presented in 1831 to the town 
by Colonel Sir De Lacy Evans (of 
Crimean repute ), NLP, for Rye at one 
time, and afterwards, at the time of his 
death, MP. for Westminster. It is 
of stone, and was placed originally on 
the Grammar School, but was re- 
moved, I believe, in Jubilee year to 
its present position. It, too, in a 
central panel, has a representation 
of "Devouring lime," and the 
curious will observe that he is without 
hands, head, or feet — not to mention 
being minus half an arm. Imme- 
diately above is carved the quite 
(under the circumstances) appropriate 
motto, u Tempus edax rerum " (Time 
the deuourer of all things). Seeing 
that he had already apparently de- 

flate* 18 z6, are carved on three 
of the sides of the shaft, the date 
probably referring to the last 
restoration. The whole is rapidly 
going to decay, and is split in 
several places almost from top to 

Fixed against the red weather- 
tiling, and a few feet above the 
doorway of an old boot-shop in 
the High Street of Rye, is an 
oval dial of unusual interest and 
in excellent preservation ; Mr. 
Wellsted, its owner, told me that 
it is probably about a hundred 
years old. Forty odd years ago 
the shop was a jeweller's, and of 
course It is not unlikely that he 
placed it there. It in rather under 
two feet in its largest dimension, 
has a white ground with black 
numerals and style, and, in a 
deeply - recessed panel in the 
centre, has a figure (apparently 
of plaster) modelled in high relief 
and painted black, representing 
Father Time, bald-headed (and, 
I am bound to add, with ears 
almost as large and protuberant 


...HLjIlldl MUMI 




molishcd his own head, hands, and feet, not 
to mention other details, one smiled as one 
realized for once "the eternal fitness of 

On the southern face of the Norman tower 
(rich in exterior areadiny) of the Church of 
St. Mary the Virgin, at Dover, is an old 


vertical dial interesting perhaps more to the 
artist than to the busy passers-by, who have 
not time in this work -a -day world to linger 
to see "the passing of the shadow/' hut 
glance doubtless at an obtrusive modern 
clock, lately placed upon the tower's western 
fare. The dial is of wood about 2 X z i\. 
square, originally painted white in the centre 

by Google 

and surrounded by a broad black border 3 
upon which are painted in white (somewhat 
irregularly) the numerals. Two wide strips 
of lead, nailed above and to the east side, 
form a sort of water-shed and protection 
during stress of weather, and help to give the 
dial quite a piquancy of its own. 

Dear old dials ! they 
seem to possess a 
charm for so many types 
of mind — of interest 
alike to the arch geolo- 
gist and the architect, 
thepoet and the painter, 
while others find just 
the study of dial mottoes 
a fascinating pursuit — 
and no wonder, for they 
are sometimes so truly 
fine and almost always 
worthy of attention. 

On a dial which stood 
in front of the Exhibi- 
tion Buildings in Edin- 
burgh in 1886 (but 
which has since been 
removed), and known 
as Prince Albert 
Victor's dial, were 
graven no fewer than 
nine mottoes, four of 
which I here give : — 
I mark but the houja of 

Time is the chrysalis of 

Time and tide tarry for 

no man. 
Tak tent of time ere 
time \y£ tint. 

At Dunbar, on a dial, 
dated 1649, runs the 
motto : "Watch for ye 
kno not the houre"; 
and on one on the 
corner of a house near 
Edinburgh, dated 1683, 
is graven : — 

As the sun runes 
lavw; So death comes. 

What a peaceful one 
is that on the walls of a 
church in the north of Yorkshire : — 
** In erelo quies ' ? 
f In Hfitz-tn is nrsfj. 

v * Now is yesterdays to-morrow/' is to be 
found on a slate dial in Nottinghamshire. 
*• The night cometh," which is engraven on a 
tower of a church in Surrey, seetns to embody 
the story all dials have to teli us. 

Original from 

On J^>1*^- 
fhe Virgtrij* 

flyover. ° 

"- .AB Q U- 

NCE upon a time there dwelt 
at liagdad a merchant whose 
avarice was something frightful 
His name was Abou-Karern. 
Although he was extremely 
rich, his clothes were nothing 
but mgs, and nobody could possibly tell the 
original colour of the coarse cloth which 
formed his turban. But the most remarkable 
thing about him was his pair of slippers, an 
extraordinary collection of scraps and shreds, 
which looked like the remnants of a beggar's 
cloak, fastened upon soles studded with huge 
nails. For the last ten years these wretched 
shoes had given employment to the most 
patient cobblers of the town, and whenever 
anyone wished to describe a weighty burden 
he would say : l( It is as heavy as Abou- 
Karem's slippers ! " 

One morning the grasping merchant, who 
was a keen hand at a bargain, went into the 

by OOOgle 

From the French of 

Xaviek Marmier. 

public square and purchased at 
a very low price an assortment 
of crystals. A few days later 
he learned that a perfumer, 
whose affairs were embarrassed, 
had some attar of roses for sale. 
Profiting by this poor man's 
need, he bought the precious 
stuff at half-price. Now 3 it is 
the custom of Eastern merchants, 
when they have conducted an 
advantageous bargain, to invite 
their friends to a feast. But 
Abou - Karem s although much 
elated by his good luck, did not 
for an instant dream of squander- 
ing a portion of his profits upon 
a banquet He decided, how- 
ever, to take a bath, as it was a long time 
since he had permitted himself such a luxury, 
In leaving his house for the purpose he 
chanced to meet an acquaintance, who, 
observing how painfully he limped in his 
horrible old slippers, remarked to him that 
he really ought to buy some new ones. 

" Well, I have sometimes thought of doing 
so/' replied Abou-Karem \ u but, upon reflec- 
tion, I have come to the conclusion that 
these are not so bad after all, and may serve 
me a long time yet/' 

When the merchant had finished his 
ablutions, he donned again his rags, and 
wound his filthy turban around his head, but 
in the place of his own much-mended shoes 
he found a handsome and perfectly new pair 
of slippers. Thinking that these must be a 
generous gift from the friend whom he had 
met that morning, he coolly slipped his feet 
into them, and returned to his dwelling in 




high glee at being so cheaply and excellently 

Unfortunately for Abou-Karem, these beau- 
tiful slippers belonged to the Cadi of Bagdad, 
who, almost at the same time as the miser, 
had visited the same bathing establishment. 

The wrath of this potentate may be 
imagined when his slaves, searching every- 
where for his slippers, found only those of 
Abou-Karem. The miser was promptly 
arrested, and dragged as a thief before the 
Cadi. In vain he attempted to defend 
himself; nobody would listen to him. He 
was thrown into prison, and released only 
upon payment of a fine — a considerable sum, 
with which he might have bought a quantity 
of fine things. 

On his return to his house, Abou-Karem, 
in a rage with his slippers, as being the cause 
of his misfortune, flung them into the Tigris, 
which flowed beneath his windows. Several 
days afterwards some fishermen drew forth 
from the river a heavy net. They doubted 

they expected to see, they beheld Abou- 
Karem's slippers, the nails of which had 
broken the meshes of their net. Disen- 
tangling them from their injured property, 
they hurled them furiously against the miser's 
windows. Falling violently into his room, the 
slippers smashed the bottles of attar of roses 
and the crystals which he had hoped to turn 
to such profitable account. 

" Ah ! hateful slippers ! " exclaimed their 
owner, as he entered the chamber, and saw 
the havoc they had wrought. " At all events, 
you shall harm me no more ! " Then, taking 
with him a spade, he went into his garden, 
dug there a deep hole, and buried the 
obnoxious shoes. A neighbour who was his 
enemy, seeing him thus employed, hastened 
to inform the governor that the lucky Abou- 
Karem was digging in his garden for hidden 
treasure. The powerful functionary's cupidity 
was at once excited. In vain the merchant 
denied his neighbour's story, and protested 
that his only object in digging had been the 

'some fishermen drew porth a heavy net. 

not but that they had taken an exceptionally 
good haul, and rejoiced accordingly. How 
disgusted were they when, instead of the fish 

by Google 

burial of his slippers. Vainly, in order to 
prove the truth of his statement, he exhibited 
his fatal property. The governor sternly 




refused to believe him, and ordered him to 
pay a heavy fine. 

Abou-Karem left the presence of his 
implacable judge, bearing in his hands the 
slippers which had failed to prove his 
innocence, and cry- 
ing, in his grief and 
rage : " I wish never 
to touch them, never 
to see them, again !" 

With these words, 
he threw the slippers 
into a reservoir 
which adjoined the 
governor's palace. 
Unhappily, they 
were sucked into an 
already obstructed 
pipe, and completely 
stopped the flow of 
the water. Then 
there was a huge 
outcry. The en- 
gineers, summoned 
in hot haste to as- 
certain the cause of 
this accident, dis- 
covered, of course, 
the clumsy slippers, 
and, equally of 
course, were careful 
to suppress the fact 
that owing to their 
own negligence the 
pipe had been al- 
ready partially 
stopped up when 
the slippers had 
been thrown in. It 
was Abou - Karem 
who had done all 
the mischief, doubt- 
less out of spite 
against the governor. 

Again he was ar- 
rested and sentenced 
to pay another heavy 
fine. His slippers, 
however, were scru- 
pulously returned to 

"What is to be 
done with them ? " 

said the worried man to himself. " I have 
consigned them to the earth and to 
the water, and the result in each case 
has been most disastrous. It only re- 
mains for me to commit them to the 
flames. But as they are so soaked with 

Vol. vi.-^2. 


,3 - fjfjf 


water and mud, it will be necessary first to 

dry them." 

Thus cogitating, he carried them up to the 

roof of his house and deposited them upon 

the terrace. Alas ! his misfortunes were not 

yet ended. A dog, 
Y amusing himself 

upon a neighbouring 
terrace, leaped upon 
that of Abou-Karem, 
began to play with 
those luckless slip- 
pers, dragged one 
of them to the edge 
of the roof, and let 
it fall upon the 
head of a woman 
who, carrying a child 
in her arms, was 
walking in the 
street below. Upon 
the summons of the 
woman's husband, 
Abou - Karem was 
arrested for the 
fourth time, and 
punished more 
severely than ever 
for having nearly 
killed, by his care- 
lessness, a mother 
and her child. 

After the sentence 
had been pro- 
nounced, the mer- 
chant, turning a 
rueful face towards 
the Cadi, addressed 
him thus : " Most 
puissant judge ! I 
submit myself 
humbly to your 
decree. I will pay 
the fine, and under- 
go my chastisement. 
But I implore of 
you this one favour 
— protect me against 
my terrible slippers ! 
They have caused 
me to be im - 
ruined, and have 
of capital punishment, 
what danger they might 
me ? Be just and mer- 
hope that the evils 


put me in peril 
Who knows to 
not yet expose 
ciful ! Let me 

which they have brought about 
be no longer attributed to me, 



u I I I ■_» I I I 





rather to these instruments of wicked the avaricious Abou-Karem that true 

spirits!" economy does not consist in the continual 

The Cadi acceded to this request, promis- amassing of wealth, but rather in the wise 

ing that he would himself take charge of the management and regulation of needful 

fatal shoes* At the same time, he warned expenditure. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Queer Side of Things — Among the Fteaks. 

No. III.— The N'Shugif.-Gumbo. 

ROM what you have told 
me," I said to the Door- 
keeper, "I gather that 
1 Freaks,' as a rule, are not 
overburdened with brains. 1 ' 
"There ain't brains enough 
in an ordinary Dime Museum, all put to- 
gether, to fit out even a member of Con- 
gress. Why, if you could take the brains 
of all my company, barring the Dwarfs^ 
and put them in the skull of a second- 
rate temperance orator, you'd find that 
they'd rattle round like dried peas. You 
see, ' Freaks J make their living by careful 
cultivation of their bodies, Naturally, their 
minds are no sort of use to them. What's 
the good of a mind to a Fat Woman ? What 
she requires to sue ;eed in her profession is 
flesh, not intellect It's the same way with 
all the rest of them, excepting the Lightning 

by L^OOgle 

Calculator, and even he needs * cheek' 
more than he does mind. 

"Of course," continued the Doorkeeper, 
" there's exceptions to every rule. Now, my 
Dwarf is as bright a chap as you can find in 
any newspaper office in the country, and it is 
my experience that the smartest class of men 
we have are the newspaper reporters, I 
never try to fool a reporter. If I see one 
coming into my show I just open a bottle of 
wine for him, and I say, i You'll see that the 
Gorilla, or maybe the Fat Woman, isn't quite 
according to the small bills ; but strange 
coincidences will happen in this world, and 
if you shouldn't give me away, and if you 
should receive a ten - dollar bill in an 
anonymous letter the next day, it would be a 
coincidence that would be pleasant as well as 
improving for all concerned.' I never yet 
had a reporter prove himself unworthy of my 




confidence. They are a high-minded, 
honourable class, provided you pay up 
handsomely, and never deceive them. 

" But I was going to tell you about my 
Dwarf. He is about forty years old, as I 
should judge, and he has spent the best part 
of his life in inventing things. Some of his 
inventions are useful ones, and he holds two 
or three patents that have involved him in a 
lot of lawsuits and cost him no end of 
money, which, as everybody knows, is what 
a successful invention always does. He was 
working at one time on a patent umbrella 
gun and shield, which he expected would be 
adopted by every army in the world, and 
would make him a millionaire half-a-dozen 
times over. His first idea was to make a 
combined umbrella and sword-cane. He 
made an umbrella with a stout handle, and 
fitted the handle with a sword, which, when 
it was thrown out by a spring projected 
about two feet from the end of the- stick. 

" Well ! he saw after a while that the 
only way this weapon could be used was by 
treating it like a 
gun with a fixed 
bayonet, so he 
modified his sword 
by turning it into 
a regular sword 
bayonet. Then it 
occurred to him 
that if he turned 
the umbrella stick 
into a rifle he 
would have a better 
weapon still, so he 
substituted a Rem- 
ington rifle for his 
umbrella stick, and 
fitted an ordinary 
umbrella frame to 
it. What he really 
had at this stage of 
the proceedings was 
a rifle with an um- 
brella attachment 
It was useful for 
keeping off the rain, 
provided anyone 
wanted to carry 
such a heavy 
weight ; but, as I 
told him one day 
when he was show- 
ing the model to 
me, most people 

would prefer an umbrella weighing less than 
sixteen pounds. 

'USEFUL for keeping off the rain. 

by Google 

11 The next thing he did with that inven- 
tion was to make his umbrella shot-proof. 
This was, according to him, the biggest 
invention since the invention of fire-arms. 
His idea was that a regiment of soldiers 
armed with his umbrella could advance on 
the enemy, firing as they advanced, and 
sheltering themselves behind their umbrellas 
so that it wouldn't be possible for them to 
get hit, except, perhaps, in the lower part of 
the leg. He was so sure that he had made 
the greatest invention of the age that 
he got pretty angry with me when I asked 
him what material he calculated to make his 
umbrella out of. 'Steel,' said he. 'Thin 
steel ; just thick enough to resist a rifle bullet.' 
* And how are yam going to shut your steel 
umbrella when it ain't in use ? ' says I. 
1 Colonel ! ' says he, very dignified, and mad 
enough to try his rifle on me, ' if you'll attend 
to your part of thishyer show, I'll attend to 

11 Well, that Dwarf worked at that inven- 
tion for more than a year. He managed to 
make a steel umbrella that would shut up 
after a fashion, but it weighed about a 

hundred pounds. 

/Then he tried 
making his umbrella 
of steel chain-work, 
like the sort of old 
armour those chaps 
in the Crusades used 
to wear, but it 
weighed almost as 
much as the solid 
steel, and then it 
let in water like a 
sieve, and was of 
no sort of use as 
an umbrella against 
the rain. 

"Of course, this 
didn't suit him, so 
he covered his 
chain-armour with 
rubber - cloth and 
made a small hole 
in it near the top with a trap- 
door to open and shut, so as a 
soldier could take aim through 
it when the umbrella was open. 
But he wasn't satisfied yet, and 
that invention kept on growing. 
The Dwarf made an extension 
of canvas to button on to the 
sides of the umbrella, so as to 
make a tent of the whole affair. All you 
had to do was to button on this extension, 




and then dig a hole in the ground for the 
butt of the gun. When you had planted 
the gun in this hole, and opened the 
umbrella and pegged it down all round, you 
had a first-class circular tent. 

" By this time the thing had got to weigh 
so much that no man could have carried it 
on a march, but the Dwarf fitted a wheel on 
to the muzzle of the gun, so that the thing 
could be wheeled like a wheelbarrow. When 
he had put hooks on to the under side of 
the gun for a knapsack and a haversack, and 
a cartridge box, and a blanket, 
and all the rest of a man's 
kit, he considered that the 
invention was about com- 
plete. But he couldn't get 
the Government or anybody 
else to do anything but laugh 
at it, so he finally gave it up 
as a bad job, and worked off 
his steel umbrella frames on 
the Fat Woman as the latest 
style of crinoline. But all 
this goes to show that the 
Dwarf was a person with 
intellects into him. I can't 
say much for his morals, or 
his temper, but there is no 
doubt that he did have brains. 

" He came to me one day 
about two years ago and said, 
' Colonel, I understand that 
all your monkeys are dead/ 
You see, I had taken 
a cage of six mon- 
keys from a friend of 
mine who was in the 
menagerie line in 
payment of a bad 
debt, and the mon- 
keys had proved a 

strong attraction ^ "complkth/ 

while they lasted. 

However, the climate finished them after a 
while, as it always will do, and all that was 
left of them was the big empty cage. 

" ' You know well enough the monkeys are 
dead,' says I to the Dwarf. * But what's 
that to you ? They weren't any relation of 
yours, so far as I know.' 

" ' How would you like a first-class trained 
orang-outang ? ' says the Dwarf. ' One that 
could smoke, and let on to read a newspaper, 
and do all them sort of tricks ? ' 

"'Are you thinking of applying for the 
place?' I asked, not feeling in particularly 
good temper myself that morning, for some- 
thing, I forget what, had gone wrong with me. 

Digitized by GoOQie 

Ui Just so,' says he. 'I've studied up the 
monkey business since you had those mon- 
keys here, and I can do it as well as the best 
of them. Come along to the cage and I'll 
show you something.' 

" I went along with him, and when we got 
to the cage the Dwarf pulls off his shoes 
and stockings,, and jumps up against the side 
of the cage, clutching the bars with his 
hands and feet at the same time just as a 
monkey would do. Then he chatters, and 
makes a grab for my watch chain, and would 
have got it, too, if I hadn't 
jumped back pretty spry. 

" ' How do I do it ? ' asked 
the Dwarf. 

"'Better than the other 
monkeys,' said I. 

"'Well! 1 says he. 'I'm 
ready to be an orang-outang 
in the afternoon and a Dwarf 
at night, if you'll double my 
salary. That is, as soon as I 
get my tail perfected.' 

" i What are you giving us ? ' 
said I. * Orang-outangs don't 
have no tails.' 

"'This here one does,' 
said the Dwarf, ' and it's going 
to be a practicable tail too. 
I have been working at it for 
the last week, and I shall have 
it after a bit in such a state 
that I can hook it around a 
chandelier and swing head 
downwards. That will con- 
vince the public that I am 
genuine. It's easy enough to 
dress up like any animal, 
except an elephant, or maybe 
a camelopard, but it's the tail 
that always gives a man away. 
And if you don't have a tail, 
people will think that you 
shirked it because you knew you were 
playing a game on them, and couldn't succeed 
if you put on a tail. Now, my tail will be the 
very thing that will convince the public that 
they are looking at a real orang-outang, and 
not at a Chinaman, like your last Gorilla.' 

" ' You might be a new sort of monkey 
discovered by Stanley in Central Africa, and 
sent over to me as a special testimonial of 
friendship,' says I, for I was beginning to 
think that the little man's idea was a good one. 
'You get up a practicable tail, and a good 
general disguise, and I'll agree to your terms 
and maybe do something better still' So it 
was agreed that as soon as the Dwarf could 




when he hooked his tail 
over the Strong Woman's 
horizontal bar, and swung 
head downwards, and 
chattered and cussed in 
the monkey dialect, there 
wasn't a scientific chap 
in all Chicago, to say 
nothing of a regular 
menagerie sharp, who 
could have supposed that 
he wasn't genuine. 

" What with drawing 
two salaries, and having 
a fair opportunity to play 
tricks on the public, the 
Dwarf was a middling 
happy man. There was 
always a crowd round 
his cage, and nobody 
seemed to read the 
notices warning people 
not to go within reach of 
the N'Shugie - Gumbo, 


invent a satisfactory tail, 
he should be brought out 
as a learned ape + 

"That tail was one of 
the best things the Dwarf 
ever invented. It w r as made 
of steel, with no end of 
joints, and was about as 
flexible as the real article. 
It was contrived so that 
whenever the Dwarf took a 
turn with it around any- 
thing, it would keep its 
hold till he released it by 
touching a spring some- 
where about his waist 
His general make-up was 
superb. He wasn't con- 
tent with just putting on a 
skin, and painting his face 
a little, but he padded him- 
self here and there, and 
wore a flexible mask that 
was twice as ugly and just 
as probable as any monkey's 
face you ever saw. When 
he first showed himself to 
me in this get-up I saw 
at once that he was going 
to be a big success, and 


by Google 

Original from 



which was the name a friend of mine, who 
had read a lot about Central Africa, gave 
him. The Dwarf would sit and look at the 
people in the solemnest kind of way for a 
few minutes, and then he would come to 
the front of the cage and put his arm through 
the bars to shake hands, 

u Everybody would wantto shake hands with 
him, and presently he would get a chance to 
snatch a woman's bonnet. He would haul it 
through the bars T and then he would hook 
his tail over a horizontal bar that was in the 
cage, and swing comfortably while he pulled 
the bonnet into shreds. Of course, the 
woman would yell, but everybody else would 
be delighted, and the Dwarf, having a natural 
love for malicious mischief, would be as happy 
as they make 'em. Then he would lay for 
spectacles, and if any man or woman wear- 
ing glasses came inside his reach, he would 
snatch their glasses and break them into bits 
before they could fairly realize what was the 

i( Occasionally, when a man lost a pair of 
gold spectacles, he would appeal to me, and 
I would go into the cage with a whip, and 
make the monkey disgorge, which he always 
did after making sure that he had bent them 
up about as far as they could be bent. 

" Then, in 
addition to his 
fun, the Dwarf 
had lots of 
candy and 
apples and such 
given to him, 
and what he 
didn't eat on 
the spot he 
used to hide 
under a blanket 
in the corner 
till the show 
was over. As 
for cigars, he 
used to get the 
best part of a 
box every day. 
The people 
were just wild 
to see him 
smoke, and 
they said he 
did it just like 
a human being. 
He used to 
smoke pretty 

near the whole afternoon, and when the 
show closed he would have a double hand- 


by C^OOgle 

ful of cigars to carry to his room. All 
the other ' Freaks } were raging with envy 
at his good luck, and being, as I said, 
naturally vicious, this only made him the 
happier; Nobody outside of my establish- 
ment had the least idea that the N'Shugie- 
Gumbo wasn't a genuine Central African 
monkey, and a scientific chap belong- 
ing to the Chicago University wrote a 
paper about him to show that he was a 
missing lynx, which to my mind showed how 
big an idiot a scientific chap can be, for the 
Dwarf wasn't missing, and he wasn't the least 
bit like a lynx, 

" He was climbing into his cage one 
afternoon, just before the show opened, and 
as I was passing by I asked him how things 
were going with him, 

" *I don't feel easy about that tail/ says he* 
1 It don't work altogether right Yesterday, 
when I had it hooked round the bar I couldn't 
get it loose again for about half an hour, and 
was afraid I should have to call for help, 
which would have been the ruin of me, I've 
examined it, and I can't find anything the 
matter with it, I suppose it's just the 
cussedness of the spring, that'll work some- 
times, and sometimes it won't I'm a little 
afraid that it'll get me into a scrape yet before 

this thing is 
played out* 

"I remem- 
bered these 
remarks after- 
wards, for they 
seemed to be 
sort of pro- 
phetic, as you 
might s a y . 
That very after- 
noon the tail 
failed to do its 
work, and the 
Dwarf's expe- 
rience as a 
monkey had to 
be brought to 
a close. My 
own idea is 
that the tail 
needed to be 
oiled, or else 
that the spring 
had got bent 
in some way 
Anyway, it got 
the Dwarf into 
the worst trouble that he ever got into while 
he was with me. 

Original from 




u It happened in the course of the after- 
noon, when the house was pretty full, and 
there was a big crowd round the monkey's 
cage, that the Dwarf accidentally let his tail 
slip through the bars and hang down where 
the people could reach it, There was a 
woman standing close to the cage, and she 
thought it would be smart to take hold of 
the end of the tail and give it a pulL 
Accordingly, she did so, and the minute she 
took the tail in her hand, it curled round her 
wrist, and there she was, held fast. As 1 
told you, the tail acted automatically, and 


whatever it took hold of it held on to till the 
Dwarf touched the spring that released it. 

**Of course, as soon as the Dwarf saw 
what was up, he tried to let go his hold of 
the woman's hand, but the spring wouldn't 
work, and the woman began to get frightened, 
and cried for help. Two or three men came 
to her assistance, and tried their level best to 
untwist the tail, but it was made of the best 
steel, and they couldn't do anything with 
it. Then, seeing that the woman was half 
frightened to death, a man pulled out a knife 
and started in to cut the monkey's tail off. 
He hadn't more than turned the edge of his 
knife on the steel, and cut his own fingers, 
when another man— a big fellow, who had 
something to do with the Society for Preven- 
tion of Cruelty, fetched him one under the 

by LiC 


ear that laid him out, remarking as he did so, 
in a quiet way, that there wasn't going to be 
no cruelty to no animals while he was on 

" All this time the Dwarf was fumbling 
away, trying to make the spring work, and so 
get his tail loose before anything serious 
should happen. It wasn't long before it did 
happen. The big man who was opposed to 
cruelty to animals said that all that was 
needed to make the monkey listen to reason 
was firmness and gentleness, and that if any- 
one would pull steadily on the tail the mon- 
key would be glad 
to let the woman 
loose. Accord i ngl y 
he laid hold of the 
tail, and two or three 
other chaps laid 
hold of it too, just 
to show how anxious 
they were to help 
the poor woman. 
A gentle pull didn't 
have any effect on 
the monkey except 
to haul him tight up 
against the bars, and 
the man who had 
been knocked down 
for trying to use his 
knife began to 
relieve his feelings 
by getting the big 
man by the collar, 
and trying to pull 
him backwards. 
What with hanging 
on to the tail so as 
to keep himself on 
his feet, and what 
with being a little excited, the big man 
pulled harder than he meant to, and the men 
that were helping him pulled their heaviest. 

M The long and short of it was that the tail, 
which had never been built to stand such a 
strain, gave way, and most of the public that 
were standing close to the cage went down 
on the floor in a heap. 

*' When the big man got up, waving the 
tail in the air, with its leather fastenings and 
buckles and such in plain sight, the Dwarf 
knew that it was all up with the N'Shugie- 
Gumbo, In similar circumstances an au- 
dience generally cleans out the establishment, 
and that is what would probably have hap- 
pened on this occasion t if it hadn't been 
that a free fight was going on among the 
men that had been knocked over when 
Original from 



the tail gave way, and they had no time 
to attend to serious things* I called in 
a couple of policemen and had the whole lot 
arrested for breach of the peace, and it being 
by that time about the hour for closing, I 
induced everybody to leave by offering them 
their money back. You can bet I felt 
relieved when the last man had gone, for if the 
crowd had undertook to clean out the place 
they would have killed the Dwarf for certain. 

il( I don't so much mind 
giving up the monkey business/ 
said the Dwarf to me that 
evening, 'for I was beginning 
to get tired of it ; but I do hate 
to quit without ever having 
got hold of a wig. I've had 
more than thirty bonnets, and 
fifteen spectacles, but Tve 

never been able to grab any man's wig, 

though I've come near it two or three times. 
Well, I suppose we can't have everything 
here to please us + I've had a good time while 
it lasted, and I suppose I ought to be 
satisfied But I should like to have stole 
just one wig + ' 

" He was the most intelligent * Freak * I 
ever knew, and that steel tail of his was a 
mighty smart invention ; but I told him that, 
after considering all things, 
I should expect him to stick 
to the legitimate, and should 
refuse to give my sanction 
to any more plans for deluding 
the public, seeing as they are 
nearly always failures in the 
long run." 

W, L, Alden. 

Va vi.— 43, 

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Original from 



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{ The Last 'Jra/trJ>.J 

by Google 

Original from 

From thj 1 ; French of Jules Ci.aretie. 

HAD this story from a dear 
friend/who told it to me one 
day when we were talking of 
the accidents of life — more 
astonishing and romantic a 
hundred times than the in- 
ventions of fiction, He had seen this 
little drama enacted under his eyes, and had 
known the actors in it, 

" I'll introduce you," he said to me, " and 
we will go together to Mez ieres 3 where we 
shall find still living one of the heroes of 
this story. All the romances have not yet 
been written; the most marvellous have still 
to be published- And who knows how much 
each of us will carry away with him, deeply 
buried in the secret of his conscience, pain- 
fully stifled under the stone that marks his 
grave ? n 

My friend Eugene Decary little thought 
how nearly those words applied to himself. 
The story of Jean Chevaucheux was the last 
he was ever to tell me. Pure spirit ! poor 
heart which beat so vainly for all that was 
beautiful and good on earth ! That bright 
soul is fled , that warm heart is silent now. 
It is he, however, who is going to speak : — 
" My father lived at Rethel, in the High 
Street I can still see his house, with its 
slate roof and its jutting beams : a hospitable 
house if ever there was one. Poor people 
knew how well it was to stop there : they 
entered with empty wallets and went from it 
with wallets filled. 

" We were seated, one evening, by the fire- 
side, my father smoking his pipe and gazing 
into the sparkling ashes on the hearth, my 
mother Ironing the family linen, I reading, 
when suddenly, outside, near the street door, 
a great nbise was heard, and we saw a lad 
with a face of terror enter hurriedly, 

*Vol. ¥1. 

"'What is the matter?' 

" * A soldier has fallen at your door— over- 
come by fatigue,' answered the lad, 

4i My father loved soldiers. He sprang 
from his seat and rushed out of doors, and 
before I had taken half-a-dozen steps to 
follow him, he was returning with a young 
soldier, so well supported that my father was 
carrying him like a sack of corn, My mother 
hastened to wheel a big arm-chair near to the 
fire, and the young man was assisted to sit 
down in it — or, rather, he was laid down in 
it, and my father, looking at him pitifully, 
said : — 

" * Is it possible you can be tramping the 
roads in such a condition ? ' 

"The young soldier was indeed very pale 
and thin, his hair glued to his forehead with 
perspiration, the veins on his temples swelled 
to the thirkness of your little finger, his face 
black with the dust of the highway. We 
were then in the month of October, and the 
air was beginning to be cold; but great 
beads of sweat stood upon the poor fellow's 
brow as if it had been in the dog days. He 
must have had a long walk ■ his shoes were 
worn out, the leather cut to pieces by sharp 
stones, as we could see. The upper leather 
of the left shoe had been torn from the sole, 
and the foot within was bleeding, 

" lie lay in the chair motionless, his head 
thrown back, his eyes half open, and white 
as linen, 

"My mother had already put some soup 
on the fire, as well as a pipkin of wine. 

u ' Bah V said my father, ' the chief matter 
is his feet ! * 

"He was on his knees before the poor 
fellow, pulling, cutting, tearing off the frag- 
ments of the boots. The young soldier's 
feet were terribly swollen and covered with 





blisters, resembling the feet of the martyrs 
wealed with hard cords, shown in the pictures 
of some of the Spanish painters. My father 
dipped his handkerchief in vinegar, washed 
and dressed the wounds, 

** l Make some lint/ he said to me. 

" I tore off some linen which my mother 
handed to me from the press. 

"The soldier had by this time come to 
himself. He looked at us — at my father, 
mother, me, and two or three neighbours 
who were there, one after the other. We 
could see that he was trying to comprehend 
what was passing about him. It was no 
longer the highway, the sharp stones of the 
road, the great, houseless woods that met his 
eyes ; but a comfortable room with a shining 
oak ceiling, a table covered with a snowy 
cloth and ready laid, and in a 
tureen a steaming mess of 
emitting an appetizing odour, 

" Then he raised himself, resting on the 
arm of the chair, and said to my father in 
broken accents : — - 

" ' But, monsieur — you — you do not know 
me! J 

" 'We'll make each other's acquaintance at 
table, then,' said my father, smiling. 

"We had already dined, but my father 
wished to keep the soldier company. He 
placed himself at table facing the young man, 

Digitized by CjOOglC 

brown earthen 
cabbage soup 

and examined the regimental buttons of his 
hooded coat. The soldier ate with great 
appetite, helped by my mother, my father 
filling the glasses, which did not rest long 

" * So/ he said, suddenly, pointing to the 
tin tube-box which hung suspended by a 
cord to the young soldier's neck ; * you have 
served your time, since you have there got 
your discharge. But what the deuce are you 
doing, trying to kill yourself on the roads? 
I see how it is — you haven't any money to 
pay for a place on the diligence ? ' 

" * V said the soldier, ' I have been paid 
my discharge money, and my mother would 
have sent me more than enough to pay my 
fare if I had wanted it ; but— well, I couldn't 

"'I understand/ replied my father, who 
did not in the least comprehend the meaning 
of what the soldier had said. He called for 
another bottte. 

"The meal ended, the soldier tried to 
walk, but he staggered on his feet, uttered a 
stifled cry, and fell back into the chair* I 
then saw tears start to his eyes. He was a 
young man, thin, wiry, dark-complexioned 
and nervous, with a look of energy in his 
face — not a man to weep at trifles. Those 
tears in his eyes puzzled me. 

" * I shall not be able to walk before 




to-morrow ! ' he cried in a tone in which 
anger was mixed with mortification, 

u ' Walk ! ' exclaimed my mother in alarm, 

" £ Continue your tramp ! ' cried my father. 

" The soldier shook his head 

"'You do not know/ he said. 'I must 
do it ! — it's a vow ! ' 

" I saw tny father look intently into the 
young man's face, with a dumb, questioning 

" ' I'll tell you all about it,' said the young 
soldier, 4 for you have perhaps saved my life, 
and I owe it to you to tell you who I am. 

11 * My name is Jean Chevaueheux, and my 
father is a lath-splitter at M&iiferes— an 
honest man, resembling you, monsieur 
Seven years ago, when I was drawn for the 
conscription, I was 
wildly in love with 
Marguerite Servan 
— a girl as good as 
she was pretty. I 
had already asked 
for her hand, and 
her father had not 
said me nay ; but 
at the same time 
as myself Pierre 
Puvioux had asked 
to be her husband. 
?ierre Puvioux is 
about my own age, 
a good fellow who 
carries his heart in 
his hand, as the 
saying k I ought 
to have detested 
him, and he re- 
mained my friend. 
Judge ! 

"'Daddy Servan 
held out his hand to 
me and said : — 

« * " You are worthy to become my son-in- 
law ; but you must get Marguerite's consent." 

'* l When the question was put to her, 
Marguerite said she would willingly have me 
for her husband ; but she said exactly the 
same in regard to Puvioux, She loved one 
as well as the other, and could not decide 
which of us to select. She could not marry 
both of us, however. 

" £ for a moment I was in great fear, I con- 
fess. It was said at Meziferes that Puvioux 
had a rich aunt, who was going to buy him a 
substitute ; if he stayed behind he would 
marry Marguerite ; and I, sure of having to 
go, for I was poor, already heard the wedding 
fiddles tearing my ears and heart. 

oy Google 

" ' You must know that Marguerite Servan 
has not her equal. If I lose her, now that 
I have waited for her seven years, on my 
honour I think I shall blow out my brains. 
Fortunately Pierre Puvioux's aunt did not 
buy him off — she died, in fact) leaving behind 
her nothing but debts. He hadn't a sou 
more than I had ; so we were both obliged 
to shoulder the musket and await our order 
of march. 

" * One evening Daddy Servan took us both 
under the arm and led us to a cabaret, and 
then said, while we emptied a bottle of 
Moselle : — 

"'"My lads, you are a pair of worthy 
Ardennais, equal in merit, and I love you 
with all my heart. One of you shall be my 


son-in-law — ■ tha t *s a bargai n * For that 
Marguerite will wait seven years, She has 
no preference either for you, Puvioux, or for 
you, Chevaueheux ; but she loves both of 
you, and will make happy whichever of you 
Fate shall select for her. This, then, is the 
condition on which one of you is to marry my 
daughter. You will go away on the same 
day, and it is probable that you will come 
back on the same day ; well, whichever of 
you is first to shake hands with Daddy 
Servan, and say to him * Halloa ! here I am 
— I've served my time ! J I swear he shall be 
the husband of Marguerite," 

M< I was astonished; I could not believe 
my ears. I looked at Pierre Puvioux, who 




looked at me, and though we were both 
greatly distressed in mind, we were both 
strongly inclined to laugh. 

" ' But Daddy Servan was not joking. He 
had thought of this way of getting over the 
difficulty, and he held to it. Seeing that it 
was so, I held out my hand to him and swore 
to act with all fairness, neither to resort to 
trickery nor violence, and to allow Pierre 
Puvioux to marry Marguerite if he returned 
to M&ifcres before me. He rose and took 
the same oath ; and we shook hands, while 
Daddy Servan said : — 

" c " The rest is now your affair ; you have, 
each of you, got to manage so that no Kabyle 
bullet overtakes you, and to come back safe 
and sound." 

" ' He refilled the glasses, and we took a 
farewell draught. 

"' Before starting I wished to see Marguerite. 
When I came beneath her windows — it was 
in the dusk — I saw somebody approaching 
and stopped. It was Pierre Puvioux. He 
appeared vexed at finding me there, and I 
was anything but delighted at meeting him. 
We stood for a moment facing each other 
like a pair of idiots, looking down at the toes 
of our shoes ; then, by my faith, a sudden 
thrill of courage moved me, and I said to 
Puvioux: — 

" ' " Let us go in together." 

"'" So be it," he said. 

" ' We took leave of Marguerite. She 
listened to us without uttering a word, but 
there were tears at the end of her long 
blonde eyelashes. Suddenly Pierre, who 
was speaking, came to a stop and fell into a 
fit of sobbing, and it was the same with me. 
So there we were, all three, crying without 
saying anything, only shaking hands. 

" ' When the diligence which took us from 
M&i&res began to rattle over the pavement 
next day, I felt inclined to throw myself from 
the roof and get crushed under the wheels, 
the more because there was sitting beside me 
a Lorrain who was singing in a dreary voice 
one of the songs of his country, which 
seemed to say to me, " It's all over with you, 
my poor Jean; you will never see her 
again ! " 

" ' Truly there are odd accidents in life,' 
Jean Chevaucheux went on. ' Quitting our 
native place at the same hour, we were, Pierre 
and I, put into the same regiment. At first 
I was annoyed at that I would rather have 
had him at a distance ; for, as you may easily 
imagine, I could not feel very friendly 
towards him. But I reflected : having him 
near me, I should at least be able to talk to 

him of Marguerite, and that would be a 
consolation. Then I said to myself : " Seven 
years ! After all, that will not kill me ! " 

" ' In the regiment I became fast friends 
with Pierre Puvioux — a good fellow, a bar of 
gold ! Chamber-comrades, we often talked 
of the country, of Daddy Servan, and of 
Marguerite — as a way of killing time, you 
understand. t We frequently wrote to Mezieres, 
each confiding to the other what he had said 
in his letter. It was a struggle, of course, 
but it was carried on loyally. When Mar- 
guerite or Daddy Servan answered, the 
answer was addressed to both of us, wishing 
us equally good luck, giving to each of us an 
equal dose of hope. So you may be sure 
we went on hoping ! 

11 ' Well, one day my Colonel named me 
corporal. I was proud and sorry at the 
same time, for, you see, I was no longer the 
equal of Pierre Puvioux ; the stripes on my 
arm gave me the right to command him and, 
in the eyes of the Ardennais at home, that 
was an advantage. But, you see, I am not ill- 
natured — I gave myself no airs of pride : on 
the contrary, my grade was a source of 
distress to me. I could no longer talk with 
Puvioux — my stripes were in the way ; so I 
reflected that there was only one method by 
which I could free myself from the embarrass- 
ment. I purposely missed the call one day, 
and for that had my grade taken from me. 
But fancy my ill-luck ! I gave up my stripes 
only to turn them over to Puvioux ! It was 
enough to make one gnaw off one's finger- 
ends ! But it was Pierre's chance for showing 
devotion, and he made no bones about it ; 
at the end of a week he got himself broken 
in turn. After that there was no danger of 
any alteration being made in either of our 
tunics ; we were condemned to remain 
common soldiers. 

" * " So much the better," said Puvioux. 

"'And I said: " How lucky!" 

" ' The seven years came to an end. I 
don't need to tell you my story day by day — 
our discharge and return route papers, all 
properly signed, were handed to us. 

" ' " Well," I said to Puvioux, "at last our 
time is up ; we must set off home." 

" i u yes," he replied ; "they are waiting our 
return there." 

" * "You know," I said, " that the game will 
not be finally won before we both get back 
to M&ziferes, and the one of us who loses 
declares that the struggle has been fairly 
carried through." 

" ' "All right ! " cried Puvioux. 

"'We embraced, and one morning — the 




other day — with good shoes on our feet and 
a stout stick in hand, we set off for Meziferes. 

"'Did I tell you we were in garrison at 
Angers ? I promise you there's a pretty 
stretch of road from there ! My faith ! since 
I started it seems to me that 1 have made 
the tour of the world ! 

" * We set off in company, talking little, 
thinking much, and walking more* It was 
terribly hot, frightfully dusty, the air as heavy 
as lead. Half way through one of our 
spells, I threw myself down by the roadside, 
unable to go any farther, my legs stiffened 
and worn out by fatigue, 

* t£ti Are you going to rest there?" asked 

"'"Yes," I replied. 

" £ "Good-bye, then," he said, going on. 

" * M Good-bye till we meet again/' I called 
after him. 

" * I watched him out of sight, walking with 
a firm step, as if he had only just commenced 
the journey. When he passed round a bend 
in the road and I could no longer see him — 
left alone and, as it were, abandoned — a 
feeling of overwhelming 
despair came upon me ; I 
made an effort. I rose 
and continued the march: 
the rest, short as it was, 
did me good, and put 
fresh courage into me, I 
pressed on, on, on, and 
made such progress that 
after awhile I came up 
with Puvioux and passed 

" J But by the close of 
the day, though I had got 
well in front of my an- 
tagonist, I was done up, 
I went into an inn and 
lay down intending to 
sleep a little— ah, a little! 
I slept through the whole 
night ! I woke only at 
daybreak, and then I was 
furious. I called out : — 

111 "Have any of you 
seen a soldier, on foot, go 
by ? " 

(i, "A soldier? Yes, 
monsieur — very late last 
night. He asked for a 
glass of water," 

* ' Ah ! in turn he had 
passed m* ! 

"'I hurriedly set off* 
At three o'clock in the 

afternoon I had not come up with Puvioux 
—nor at six o'clock. In the evening I took 
a rest while eating. The meal finished, 
on, on, I went again. This time Puvioux 
should not be much ahead of me ! I walked 
on late into the night, but there is a limit to 
a man's strength ; once more 1 was obliged 
to halt. 

** * I knocked at the door of a roadside 
public-house and was admitted. Puvioux was 
there, seated in an arm-chair, pale as death. 
He started with irritation on seeing me — not 
unnaturally. We did not say much to each 
other j what, indeed, had we to talk about ? 
Then, too, we were so horribly tired. 

"'It was who should rise earliest next 
morning — and it was I and that morning 
was this morning, All day I have been 
walking, resting from time to time but very 
little ; for, you know, we are near the end, 
Rethel is the last tramp on the route from 
Angers to Mfeiferes. I know my map of 
France now ! 

" i The last tramp — my God, if I should 
arrive too late ! ' 








" Jean Chevaucheux ceased speaking. 

11 * And Pierre Puvioux,' asked my father, 
1 has he overtaken you ? ' 

u( No!' cried Chevaucheux, ' and if I 
could go on now, I should be saved.' 

" c Go on the road — in the state you are 
in ! Impossible ! ' 

" * I see it is. With my feet swollen — torn 
— yet, to-morrow ' 

" ' To-morrow you will be rested and able 
to walk.' 

" * Do you think so ? ' asked the soldier, 
his eyes flashing. 

" ' I promise you.' 

" * Ah ! ' cried Jean, ' you are a kind man ! ' 

" ' Tut, tut,' said my father. 

" He advised the soldier to go to bed at 
once, and the poor fellow desired nothing 
better. The bed was ready. Chevaucheux 
shook us all by the hand and ascended to the 
room which had been made ready for him. 

" It was ten o'clock. 

" Next day, before dawn, my father, already 
up, looked out of window to see what sort of 
weather it was. While he was looking up at 
the sky, he heard, down in the street below, 
the sound of heavy footsteps, and, in the un- 
certain light, dimly made out the form of a 
soldier, painfully making his way towards 

" * Already en route ? ' asked my father. 

"The soldier halted. 

"'Well,' continued my father, 'are you 

" The soldier raised his head and tried to 
make out who it was who was speaking to 

" i Are you Jean Chevaucheux ? ' asked my 

" ' No/ answered the soldier j * I am Pierre 
Puvioux. 9 

" And, as if the name of Jean Chevaucheux 
acted upon him like a spur, he went on his 
way with increased speed and quickly passed 
out of my father's sight. 

" ' Halloa ! ' said my father, ' poor Chevau- 
cheux will have to bestir himself if he wants 
to outstrip that sturdy young fellow ! ' and 
he went at once to the room in which Jean 
had been resting. The young soldier was 
already up. He was examining his feet by 
the light of a candle. 

11 'Victory ! ' he cried, on seeing my father. 
I am fresh and vigorous. I am out of pain. 
En route I ' 

" i And quickly ! ' replied my father. 
Puvioux has passed through RetheL' 

" c Pierre Puvioux ? ' 

" i Yes ; I have just spoken with him. He 

Digitized by V^OOglC 

passed under my windows, and is pushing 
forward like a madman.' 

" c My God ! ' cried Chevaucheux, like one 
stunned. Once more repeating this exclama- 
tion, he buckled his knapsack and threw it 
upon his shoulders, crying : ' Well, instead of 
discouraging me, what you tell me puts new 
spirit into my bosom ! ' 

" In the room below, my mother — she, too, 
had already risen — was filling a wallet with 
provisions which she had prepared for 
Chevaucheux, but he declined. He was 
not hungry ; all he would accept was a flask 
of brandy. Then he put on a pair of boots 
which my father wore when he took long 
walks, and, more confident than ever, he 
departed, blessing my mother, and resting 
on the arm of my father while he made the 
first few steps. 

" Day had come. My father went a little 
way with Chevaucheux. The young soldier 
bore himself stiffly up, in spite of his 
battered feet, which must have pained him 
terribly. He said little and appeared to be 
wrapped in thought. 

" For half an hour my father and he went 
on in this way. At length my father said : — 

" c Well, all friends must part. Good luck 
to you, and God be with you ! ' 

" i Monsieur Decary,' then said Jean 
Chevaucheux, i will you allow me to embrace 
you ? ' 

"The next moment they were in each 
other's arms. 

" Chevaucheux wept, and my father's eyes 
were not unmoistened. It was my father 
who first got the mastery over himself. 

" i Bah ! ' he said ; " ' we are losing time. 
En route ! en route ! ' 

" He parted with Jean, who pressed forward 
on the road to M£ziferes. 

" For three or four years we had no news 
of Jean Chevaucheux ; but we often spoke 
of that evening when the young soldier had 
entered, bleeding and exhausted, into my 
father's house. What had become of him ? 
How had ended that love-romance so 
strangely begun ? 

" One day my father had to go to M£ziferes 
on business, and he took me with him. 

" At M&iferes he entered the first barber's 
he came to, to get shaved. At the door of 
the shop was seated an infant, enjoying the 
sunshine, but at the same time blocking the 
way with his plump, outspread legs. 

"'Won't you let me pass?' asked my 
father, pleasantly. 

11 1 No, I won't let zu pass/ cried the child. 

" At that moment a man in his shirt sleeves 




appeared in the shop — the father and taking 
the young gentleman up in his arms, removed 
him out of the way; saying, as he did so : — 

"'What ure yuu about, Pierre? Da you 
want to drive away the customers ? ' 

" I recognised the voice. So did my 

" We looked at the barber, and he looked at 
us ; and suddenly he, my father, and I uttered 
a simultaneous exclamation. The barber was 
Jean Chevaueheux. He instantly held out his 
hand. He was flushed and his face beaming. 

"'Is it indeed you? Ah, when I think 
that I have never written to you— ingrate that 
I am ! Have you never heard? It was I 
won the bride ! I arrived first — first, you 
know ! ' 

"And rushing to the back of the shop, he 
called : — 

41 * Marguerite ! Marguerite ! come quickly! J 

" He appeared to be out of his wits with 

li A young woman appeared, pretty, fair- 

complexioned, with blue eyes ; her air gently 
pensive, a little sad even. 

61 ' You see this this gentleman ? ' he 
cried. L Well, it was lur who saved ms at 
Rethel, the night before I arrived at your 
fathers— of whom I have spoken so often — 
Monsieur Decary ! ' 

f * * Ah ! ' cried Marguerite, with a sweet 

u And, turning upon us her large, calm eyes, 
she bowed and thanked us gently. Then, as 
her husband continued to call up the past, 
she looked at him beseechingly, even a little 

^ But Jean did not see this* 

M ( Ah ! J he cried, ' and it is to you, mon- 
sieur, I owe my happiness ! My son — my 
little Pierre— look at him. It was by my 
wife's wish that he was named Pierre- isn't 
he a fine fellow? My shop, which is going 
on as well as possible, my wife whom I 
worship, and my little Pierre, I owe all to 
you ! T *' 

Vnl. vi —48, 

by Google 

• Original from 

r Vt£*¥W7£u!l 




The elephant, the various 
sorts of swine s the rhinoceros, 
and the hippopotamus — these 
are the pachyderm at a. Now, 
the elephant has had a Zig- 
zag to itself, and the pig shall 
have none of this Zig-zag ; 
excellent reasons why now I 
speak only of the hippopota- 
mus and rhinoceros- 

It is not easy to catch the 
hippopotamus at a moment 
of extravagant agility. To ob- 
tain lively sketches of the 
hippopotamus for the embel- 
lishment of these pages 
has been a task of long 
waiting, weary sitting, 
tiresome standing, much 
hanging about, hope de 

' hft 


r ?** n>y 



by Google 






** - . 


Guy Fawkes, the 

big hippopotamus 

here, has an easier 

trick ; she (this 


merit of accuracy and architectural actuality. 
the first place, standing on the path behind tin 
paddock, we enjoy a view of the south elevation. 
Here the whole length of the edifice is visible 
in its simple grandeur. The architec- 
ture is of the manner of Vanbrugh 
on whom, it will be remembered 
the poet exhorted the earth 
to lie heavy, in retalia- 
tion for the heaviness of 
his buildings. Nothing 
of Vanbrugh's ever lay 
heavier per cubic foot 
on the groaning earth 
than Guy Fawkes lies 
here. I defy even a 
ghost to rise from the 
earth under Guy 
Fawkes. Let her hut lie 
on it and she would 
extinguish a volcano, 

ferred, heart-sickness, 
and final disappoint- 
ment. Other animals 
baffle the artist by 
restless movemen* 

- 1? 


Guy is a she) lies perse veringly still 

lies was kind enough to suggest a 

k shower of rain, because Guv 

fawkes has a way of getting up and 

strolling into the pond to get out 

of the wet, Wc had no influence 

with the rain, so had to wait for 

it. The rain came, and the wetting, 

but Guy Fawkes braved out the 

shower rather than serve the will of an 

artist. So that it is not possible in this 

place to gratify the public with authentic 

portraits of Guy Fawkes turning a somer 

sault, or dancing a hornpipe, or walking on a 

tight-rope, or even riding on a bicycle. Still, the 

views which are possible have the undeniable 




Original from 




and drive an earthquake discomfited 
away to some part where the earth's 
crust was less immovably suppressed. 
It is a humiliating thing in most cases 
to be sat upon, but when Guy Fawkes 
is the sitter, little room is left in the 
sittee for humility or any of the other 
virtues. The east View of the structure 
is obtained from near the gazelle 
sheds, and the view from the north 
(only a partial one, but still pic- 
If you can get into 



| J 




i ■ 

1 - : 

r . 

1 l/ft 



v -■-■ 

VIEW Kfc;iU \t)RCH, 

turesque) you get from inside the house. 

the ostrich paddock (you can't) you will have an opportunity 

of surveying the venerable pile from somewhere about west by 

south. This is a sort of end elevation, with a conspicuous 

display of the west wing, if anything about a hippo- 
potamus can be called a wing. Then you will have 

seen and admired Guy Fawkes pretty well all round. 
The hippopotamus in general is admired for several 

causes. His (or her) mouth is indisputably the 

biggest extant, and has long been acknowledged 

to exceed even that of the Philanthropic Reformer, 

while his hide is almost as thick. His legs, although 

serviceable, are not al- 
together up to ballet 
form, but his chest 

measurement any bod)' might be proud of. Perhaps we 
love him most, though, as an old Londoner, although he 
has not been a familiar wanderer in the London streets 
since the tertiary epoch, which was some time ago. 
Again, hi old time the hippopotamus was installed the 
symbol of impiety and ingratitude, which may account 
for a vast deal of popularity. His name, of course, is 
derived from the (Jreek hippo a horse, and potamos a 
river ; but he cannot he regarded as a very successful 
horse. Few people who admire a handsome Cleveland, 
with good knee-action, would, as a habit, 
harness him with a hippopotamus to a 
landau. The hippopotamus has no points; 
x _, _ ^ no more points, and no sharper ones, than 
a Herman sausage- 
Still, it cannot be too widely known that the hippopotamus does move sometimes. Even 

(luy Fawkes does, and some insignificant proportion of the visitors (about }( in io,ooo, I 

believe) witness the feat. But even then she rarely does more than change her elevations — 

just brings her north elevation round 

south, for a change of air. ]t is a grave 

and solemn rite, this turning about, and 

it proceeds with properly impressive 

deliberation. She rises by a mys- 
terious process, in which legs seem 

to take no part ; she anchors her face 

against the ground, as regarding her 

head in the light of a great weight 

(which it is) dumped down to prevent 

the rest of her being blown away 

by an unexpected zephyr, Then, 

with her weighty muzzle as pivot 

and centre, she executes a semi- ~, + , 

t ,*f /»/\j"il "k ■ * ' V_m I U 1 1 I a I MUM 

circular manccuvre suggestive ,.| UNfVOTlY'Of MICHIGAN 



an attempt to kill time— rather, one might say, 
procrastinates herself round — until the north 

elevation faces south T when immediately she becomes 
a sausage again, turned about All this is done with 
such perfect modesty that you immediately forget 


you saw 

her legs or not — indeed, whether she had any. 

As a matter of fact, I may here inform a doubt- 

ful public that (Juy Fawkes has feet ; her 
legs — if she has them — she, with propriety, 
veils in certain lashings of fat. 

Guy Fawkes was so called in defiance of 
her sex because she was born (here in the 
menagerie) on November 5th, 1872. Next 
door to (luy Fawkes lives Jupiter, who is 
only a small hippopotamus, some way from 

being fully grown. Jupiter, 

however, has ambitions, 

He admires and envies, beyond all things, the 

placid repose of Guy Fawkes. He does his best 

to imitate her. But as yet he is little more than 

a beginner — a mere amateur in inertia. He is 

so inordinately proud of lying perfectly still 

for twenty minutes or so that he must look 

round for admiration, and spoil the effect at 

once. His mental attitude toward Guy Fawkes 

is that or the boy to Sidi l^akdar in Daudet'g 
La Figue et k Partsseux- but Jupiter is far; 
very far, from being the equal of the hoy in the 
noble craft of the paresseux. The fact is that 
Jupiter^ in his ambition to become 
a creditable hippopotamus, an im- 
mobile vastness, a venerable pile, 
tries a little too much at once. 
Guy Fawkes, he considers, can 
smash anything earthly by lying 


on it, and herein h 

e is riL'tu. 

chakcf of ©FJqm'aJ from 



Aspiring to the crushing power of Guy Fawkes, he is con- 
tinually troubled by one or two hard iron knobby projections 
from the ground, which serve to keep the door of his den in 
place. Try as he will ? these pieces of iron won't be suppressed ; 
on the contrary, they discompose his surrounding atmosphere 

of fat — must reach, in fact, to with- 
in a very few feet of his ribs— and 

ill is is uncomfortable. 
Still he pegs away, com- 
bining his attempt at the 

placidity of Guy Fawkes with that upon the obsti- 
nacy of the iron knobs. So that on the whole he 
does not succeed, comes as near perpetual motion 
as a hippopotamus may (about three moves an 
hour), and frequently betrays his possession of legs. 
He is never mistaken for a sausage, but presents 
the general appearance of a succession of cartloads 

of mud of vary ing 
shapes and designs. 
Jupiter, however, 
from his very perse- 
verance, will get on , 
and some day, when full grown, 
he will take sausage rank and 
suppress earthquakes as 
well as Guy Fawkes. 
Then he will have north, 
south, east and west ele- 

vations, and, leaving behind th ■ 
ignominy of resemblance to a 
cartload of mud, became a Vener- 
able Pile, and shroud his legs. 

There are times when 
neither Guy Fawkes 
nor Jupiter will con- 
descend so far as to 
exhibit themselves 
architecturally ; o n 

careful scrutiny a broad 
nose-tip is observable, ap- 
parently floating on the 


by Google 


Original from 




surface of the pond. This is 
Guy Fawkes or Jupiter, as the 

case may be, * Inexperienced 
sparrows," strangers to the place, 
have been known to alight on 
the small island thus presented, 
and to go away again immedi- 
ately, doubtless to carry the 
it-port that the island was of an 
actively volcanic character. 
The hippopotamus has now 
been a familiar object in 
the Zoo for forty -three 
years, and the rhinoceros 
for longer; but still one 
hears occasionally the re* 
marks {usually for the in- 
struction of toddling youth) 
of worthy old ladies, who 
confuse the one with the 
other. It might conduce 
to the spread of more exact 
knowledge if an announce- 
ment of identity were 
painted in large white letters 
across the south elevation of Guy Fawkes. As it 
is, that most eligible advertising space is wasted 

The derivation of the name of the rhinoceros 

was once most intelligently explained by a 
showman exhibiting one. " This, ladies an' 
gents, is the cellerbratud rhinoserious— called 
rhino 'cos of is immense pecoonary walue ; 
called serious consekins o* bein' mentioned 
in ? OIy Writ," His points of difference from 
the hippopotamus are fairly obvious. Both 
have a good thick over- 
coat, certainly, but the 
hippopotamus, anxious U.\ 
a good fit, fills all 
baggy spaces with 
fat, while the rhin- 
oceros, preferring 
the free and easy 
appearance of a 
t caped ulster, lets 
the garment hang 
in folds : not that 
the rhinoceros 
starves or wastes- 
Jim here, the older 
of the two Indian 
rhinoceroses (the 
other is Tom) 
measures more 
than twelve feet 
in girth, and, if 
eating will do any- 
thing, is certainly 

by Google 




not decreasing The feeding of the rhinoceros is a surprisingly 
thorough process. A few trusses of 
hay, a few of straw, a few of tares, a 
few biscuits and so 
on lie along one ^ 

side of his sane- yO WF*^' • if 

turn. The biscuits 
go first, and 
then, begin- 

ning at one end of the 
hay, he eats his way 
through till he arrives at 
the straw, and through 
that to the tares. When 

these have all disappeared, he will 
proceed steadily to devour any 
broom, shovel, or bucket which may 
have been left in the place, and so 
eat his way through the furniture till 
his residence is absolutely bare. 
Then, after a careful inspection to 
assure himself of the surrounding 
emptiness, he will roll up to the 
bars and there stand with 
open mouth to receive 
whatsoever the visi- 
tors may choose 


consume the house 
it remains a curious mystery. 
Possibly it may be because of a 
tacit understanding with lies, the 
keeper, that in consideration of the re- 
version of all old brooms and stable 
utensils, the building shall remain uneaten. 
Tom, in particular, regard^s an esueeial joy 
ths privilege of browftfigip rta^tl^^^rooin' 




Jim, who has been here twenty-nine years, is a 
taciturn rhinoceros, who nevertheless likes company. 
Jack and Begum, the pair of smaller, hairy-eared 
rhinoceroses, are Jim's next-door neighbours. 
When Jim and his neighbours are out in their 
respective paddocks, Jim takes no notice of the 
others. But if only he be left in his paddock 
while Jack and Begum are within, he immediately 

yearns for company ; 
goes, in fact, to the 
dividing railing and 
shouts for it aloud. 
This shout seems to 
be part of a game 
of "I-spy-I," 




which Jim is trying to 
p'irsuncle Jack and Be- 
gum to indulge in 
be standins. 

fectly quiet near his door when 
the impulse comes upon him. 
Then he trots out, shouts at 
the railing, runs furiously all 
round his paddock 

(with a noise as of a trotting troop c f 
cavalry with loose accoutrements), and 
finally bounces " home " in triumph, and 
waits there for Jack and Begum to appear 
— defeated. If they do not come — usually 
they do not because the door is shut — he 
repeats his shout and run ; if they happen 
to be let out, Jim promptly loses all 
interest in them. He yearns but for 
the absent. 

Jack and Begum are an extremely 
affable pair, most excellent and inti- 
mate friends of mine. You may go 
fearlessly and pat Begum — although she 

Vol. vi -46. 




would prefer being fed. You may 
also pat Jack if he be near enough 
to the bars. If not, you may shut 
your eyes and pat a brick wall — it is 

just the same thing, if only 
you select a sufficiently 
rough wall I am sorry 
to have to report, as a 
result of careful observa- 
tion, my conviction that 
Begum tyrannizes over 
her husband. They run a sort of circus, wherein Jack 
does the whole performance, while Begum personally 
surrounds the entire receipts. For some cause of 



which I am ignorant, Jack always 
walks with a quaintly high-stepping 
action of the hind legs. It was 
this, I am certain, that first sugges- 
ted the circus to the financial 
genius of Begum. Jack solemnly 
goes through his high-stepping 
march round, by way of opening 
procession. He presents himself 
to various points of view, so as to 
give the spectators full measure for 
their contributions. Then he 
flounders into the water and 
gloomily clowns for the amusement of the vulgar He goes through a series of rhinoceros 
trick-wading feats, finishing up by splashing over on his back, and spilling most of the pond. 
That is the performance. It isn't a very great one, but it draws contributions of biscuits and 
buns, which Begum eats as fast as they accrue, As soon as the business is over, Jack rolls 
lugubriously into a comer and rits down to weep drips from the pond, with an expression of 
dismal recognition of the hollowness and mockery of all this glittering theatricality and sham 




Sst— **».**r^«, 



gaiety, But Begum still goes round 
with the mouth. Jack never comts 
to the rails for a share, ft: c ling too 
deeply the vanity of mere earthly 
buns ; also having long ago been 
convinced that it is his business 
to earn while the missis eats 
them. Jack and Begum have 
opposite opinions in the matter 
of Monday. Monday is the 
sixpenny day, and Jack has to 
clown his hardest ; while Begum 
collects a vast toll Sometimes 

■HlflMMIIUi i 



a bun has been thrown 
directly under Jack's muzzle, 
while Begum has been busy 
at the farther end of the 
pad dock. Then Jack has 
gazed for a moment reproach- 
fully at the thrower, as who 
would say : li My friend, you 
should know better than thus 
to cast temptation before a 
weak and erring rhinoceros " ; 
then at the bun, as who 
would add: "Ah, a bun— a 
worldly bun. All buns is 

vanities. Nevertheless, lest perad venture some weaker vessel be templed — perhaps even the 

missis— if I leave it there, I will proceed to surround it with what grace I may J1 ; which 

he does, 

Tom, at the further end, is an excitable sort of rhinoceros. His fidgetiness has resulted in 

the almost complete rubbing away of his horn. This circumstance lays Tom open to a deal 

of slighting criticism from unzoological visitors. " 'E 

ain't a rhinoceros ! " they say ; " Where's his horn ? H 

And then, when convinced by the label—" Well, e ain ? t 

got a fine 'orn like 

the other" — allud- 
ing to Jim. This 

annoys Tom, and, 

as trampling his 

enemies out flat is 

an impossibility, he 

turns about anr 

sulks. He is in 

bad fellow 

though, on the 

whole, and it is 

just possible 

that he has 

rubbed down 

his horn to see 

by Google 

Original from 



^a ahead better. Tom is very fond of his pond— too fond. 

He gets excited and dashes his corners off against the 
sides, so that his allowance of bath 
has to be limited; otherwise he would 

It costs a rhinoceros a 
great deal of valuable 
time to kill bluebottles 

a -A* £Wf*^ 

by Google 

Original from 

A Career for a Kiss, 

RAMP, tramp, tramp," and a 
heavy pair of boots come 
down the stone steps of the 
officers' quarters at Silver- 
bridge. A kick at the door 
njuscs Captain Kay from the 
perusal of a writ just served. 

"I say, Lulu, are you going to the ball 
to-night ? n 

"Come in, come in ; don't stand shouting 
outside. Look at my r\t\\ portfire" 

A couple of Clumber spaniels herald Leigh, 
the youngest subaltern of the -th Foot. 

He looks cautiously round the door, and 
laughs lustily at the decoration of writs and 
summonses with which Lulu has just panelled 
his door. 

" I say, Lu, you do have good ideas. 
That's the most sportin' 
decoration I've seen for a 
long time. 7 ' 

"It's all very well, I.eigh, 
to laugh at it You're a 
rich fellow, you've got rich 
relations to fall back upon ; 
but I'm deuced hard 
pressed If I don't find 
some sop for my creditors 
1 shall have to cut the 
service. I'm awfully 
down on my luck about 

"What about the ball 
to-night ? I'm going 
to drive over some 
time after ten- if you 
like, 111 give you a 

"Well, I don't feel 
much like dancing." 

" You'll feel all 
right when vou get 

"Very well, 111 be 
ready at ten sharp." 

(i Miss Betty 
Dormer is in form 
to-night She looks 
splendid I've never 



known a girl that changes so much* I met 
her last night and she looked positively 

" W hat ! the girl in yellow ? Curious look- 
ing : I shouldn't call her ugly by any means 
— looks elegant -pretty stiff" 

" Stiff No, I can't say that. She's got 
plenty to say for herself: I call her very 
amusing, and she dances "—here the young 
fellow raised his voice and eyes to add 
meaning to his words — "like an angel" 
"Halloa, Leigh! 3 ' 

" Nonsense, halloa ! nothing of the sort. 
Come on upstairs ; III introduce you, I 
warn you, though, you won't care much about 

" And why not ? * 

"She's not your sort, She'll talk and 
shell laugh and she'll 
dance, that's all." 

"And why won't I 
rare about her, if she 
does all that?" 

" My good fellow, we 
all know you"; and 
taking his friend con- 
fidentially by the arm 
he said, importantly : 
il She won't kiss you* 
She's a perfect iceberg ; 
you don't believe me— 
try for yourself. I've 
known her ever since 
*he's been out. Ask 
anybody, you'll hear the 
same thing — charm in 1 ; 
1 >ut, I repeat, an iceberg," 
and Leigh shrugged 
his shoulders, 

Kay looked up the 
wide staircase once 
more at the pretty 
girl standing in the 
doorway of the ball- 
room, her simple, 
long, yellow gown curl- 
ing gracefully round 
her as the move- 
ment of the valse 

ay of the i^tWiplVa I f lt- 




She had evidently been dancing quickly 
and left off suddenly, for she was steadying 
herself against a pillar, and the large yellow 
roses and the ribbons in the bosom of her 
gown betrayed her breathlessness. She was 
not beautiful, but there was a charm about 
her that was very attractive and made her con- 
spicuous even in that throng. Lady Adelaide 
SlplwelFs balls were always well attended, 
for she had all the prettiest women in the 
county, good music, an excellent floor, and she 
herself always received with genuine cordiality. 
She asked her friends for the pleasure it gave 
her to see them, and not, as is very usual, to 
"do them off," so that her radiance reflected 
upon her guests and animated them. 

Kay answered sharply : — 

<l One does not expect every girl to 
be a volcano. The house is hot enough 
as it is." 

" To please you, my dear fellow, she must, 
so that's all nonsense," Leigh insisted cheerily. 
"Come along in." 

Kay stopped on the landing and medita- 
tively drew on his gloves. 

" What do you bet," he said quickly, 
" that I transform the iceberg into a volcano 
before the evening is over ? " 

u Wouldn't bet — can't on a certainty, it 
: ud be robbin' you," Leigh answered, laugh- 

"Leave that to me. Do you take my 

" I lay you 300 to 1 you don't get her 
to kiss you." 

" Done with you — that she kisses me 

" Of her own free will, mind you." 

" Of her own free will. You know 
the glass terrace that runs along the front 
of the house— at one o'clock you be behind 
the curtain that leads into the music-room. 
They are not using it to-night " — Leigh's 
shouts of laughter almost drowned the last 
words. " Now introduce me." 

"Miss Betty Dormer, may I introduce 
Captain Kay to you ? " 

Miss Dormer inclined her head and said : 
" How d'you do ? " 

Kay look-jd into her eyes intently. 

" May I have a dance ? " 

She handed him the programme of the 
dances. He took this as a signal of trust, 
and proceeded to write his name against 
several of the dances. He was astonished 
that she never even glanced at the programme, 
but bade him "hand it on to Mr. Leigh." 
' " You will forget," he remonstrated, " which 
you have given me if you do not- look." 

" Provided you remember, Captain Kay, I 
need not." 

" So the first round has missed," thought 
Lulu, as he moved away to make room for 
some other men who were waiting to talk to 
her. He went some distance away and took 
stock of his victim. 

The first bars of " Toujoqrs ou jamais " 
rang out ; she looked cool and self-possessed 
with the usual busy ball-room traffic all around 
her: the men running about eagerly look- 
ing for their partners, consulting their pro- 
grammes, so anxious not to mistake a 
plain for a pretty woman, a heavy for a 
light dancer ; of conversation there is hardly 
any question. He returned to her and 
whisked her away ; she greeted him with an 
amused smile. 

" Isn't it ugly t " she said. " It looks like 
Paddington Station on a summer Saturday 

"Yes, only the guards are wanting to show 
you to your carriage." 

" All the pretty girls first-class, the amusing 
second, the heavy third ! " She laughed at 
her own witticism. " I should get into the 
guard's van, I do so dislike crowds." 

" I shall be the guard, then." 

Whereupon Captain Kay stopped dancing, 
and without more ado led her to a corridor, 
where comfortable arm-chairs and divans 
temptingly invited one to chat and rest, and 
great pyramids of ice hidden among flowers 
cooled the somewhat overheated atmosphere 
of the house. Drawing out an easy chair 
he put her into it. " There, that's better ; 
here we will sit and let them dance. We 
will amuse ourselves." 

" You will amuse me. I shall take a holi- 
day. You look as though you could talk. I 
shall listen." 

" I can't be amusing to you." 

" Have you brought me down here to be 
rude to me ? If so, we'll go back." 

" Heaven forbid ; you will stop here. I 
will have my way ; you are comfortable and it 
is very nice. There will be a rush for this 
place in a moment, so let us enjoy the 

" Does that mean that we are to sit here 
without talking? I can't do that for long. 
I am a terrible talker." 

With an effort Kay pulled himself together. 
She interested him so that he forgot the 
stakes, and it was already past eleven 

" It means that I have found you, and 
shall not risk losing you again just yet ; you 
must stay he#<k)in 





H Oh ! Oh ! How 
pointed to her card. 

about this? 



My name is 
See— there 

I'll make that all 
down for the next four dances, 
and there." 

"You did not do that, did you?" Her 
eyes gleamed with pleasure, 

" And I shall go on filling it up so there's 
an end to doubt and no escape/ 1 

Miss Dormer laughed and ro^e quickly, so 
did Kay, and taking her hand pressed her 
again into her seat For a moment she 
resented his tyranny : an angry flush rose to 
her face. However, an appealing look from 
Kay seemed to settle the matter, and with a 
little sigh she subsided again into the cushions. 
He took a few steps towards a window and 
stood there, wondering what should be his 
next move. So far, so good ; but now, what 
was to come next? And time was flying. 
Turning suddenly he met her eye resting on 
him with a quaint, troubled expression, and 
his conscience smote him. For half a second 
the man's chivalry struggled with his lower 
nature. The latter triumphed, for he was 

:ize<J by ^OOgie 

hard pressed for money — he must either have 
money or must cut the service — his eareer 
depended on the next hour. 

M I can't understand^ 1 he continued, truth- 
fully, th what I feel about you- You have 
fascinated me completely." He seized htr 
hand violently. " You little witch, how have 
you done It?" 

"What nonsense are you talking? This 
is not my first ball." 

For all that she was sipping the honey of 
his words. He saw her weakness, and 
profited therefrom. 

11 You are wrong, you simple little woman ; 
this is no nonsense, I have read of such 
things as love at first sight — sudden and 

She looked doubtful. 

" Little sceptic ! Yes T I have ; poets sing 
of it^ novelists are full of it" 

" Novelists never draw from life" 

" Now don't laugh at me, you hurt me. I 
am no man of the world who can talk plati- 
tudes with my heart so full Your frown 
can't stop mt ; yoii r>ct how it is with me/' 


35 6 


A tall, thin young man here interrupted 
their conversation, and carried Hetty off; she 
rose slowly, much disinclined to acknowledge 
his claim. As she walked leisurely along the 
passage on her partners ami, she glanced 
hack with a little regretful grimace that 
bewitched Kay, who followed them, and a 
low "Curse the fellow !" escaped him* 

He went into the deserted refreshment-room 
and tossed down a brandy -and -soda, and 
another, and a not her. It sickened him that there 
was only three-quarters of an hour left him t 

the balance was distinctly uneven. If only 
the brandies -and -sodas vuuld drown his 
very small remnant of conscience ! Ah ! 
at List luTe slu.' was. 

"Why have you been so long with that idiot? 
1 do believe you were going to prolong my 
agony and were going in to supper with him/' 

She nodded assent. 

" Don't be fretful," she said, smiling, "you 
shall have your reward. J 

Willingly he mistook her meaning, 

"Then come with me. 3+ Leaving the 


and here was she wasting precious moments 
da nc i n g w i t h a n o th e r f \ V hat had he ac hie ved ? 
Nothing* She had charmed him, but that 
was mere feeble sentiment His work was 
cut out for him, and he was determined to 
go through with it Idiots called her cold, 
soulless. Dear little thing, with her winning 
manner and lovely eyes and gleaming white 
teetn, and, to crown all T with such a 
smile ! He swore to himself that he was a 
funny sort of chap and, therefore, didn't 
like the job ; but what, after all, was a 
kiss to her ? — and £500 would save 
him from ruin — a kiss and 
Diaiiized b\ 

?yCck^ff r e 

crowd to struggle down to supper, they went 
through the hall and the boudoir to the 
glass-covered terrace that ran along the front 
of the house, where the many Chinese 
lanterns flickered only dimly, making the 
white statues peep ghost-like from among the 
palms and flowers. Here Captain Kay 
seated her on a marble seat and watched her 
try, by re-adopting her original indifference, 
to hide her timidity. 

"And now, Miss Dormer, for my reward." 

Her changed manner annoyed him, for he 

calculated that at this rate it would take 

more than fifteen minutes to reach the climax, 




and by that time Leigh would be triumphant 
behind the curtain. 

( * We could have chatted quite as well up- 
stairs ; it is cold and uncanny here. I hate 
statues. M 

" Who* wants to chat, Betty ? I want my 
reward/' he urged, 

"You are having it, and it's quite your 
own fault if it is not in a cosier place* I 
don't like It Take me back." 

" Not until you have fulfilled your pro- 

" What ? I have made no promise," 

"A moment ago you spoke of my reward. 
You are fickle, like the rest : one moment 
you are human, the next moment you 
repent Why do you torture me? What 
have I done to you that you should treat 
me so ? " 

She rose quickly, but following her he 
seized both her hands in his, fiercely. u I 
want a kiss/' he murmured. 

"You are mad" Her voice trembled with 
the struggle to free herself from his grasp, 

u Why did you allow me to talk to you so 

if my sudden love for you hadn't awakened 
some feeling in you ? " 

The minutes were scampering towards the 
decisive hour. His pleading was useless ; 
alive to the futileness uf his efforts to break 
through her conventional manner, he grew 
more and more excited, and groped around 
wildly in his mind for some strategy, some 
lie to coax her with. The girl troubled him ; 
he felt her worth and cursed his fate that 
she was not made of the ordinary ball-room 

61 Love ! " she scoffed. "Two hours ago we 
had never met ; and now — and — now " — the 
words choked her — " it is an insult." 

A groan escaped him, and a long, weary 
sigh. 1( Have we soldiers time for long wooing? 
Here to-day and gone to-morrow. " This 
sentimentality, expressed in hoarse, trembling 
tones t called forth a gleam of pity in her lovely 
eyes. He recognised the effect of his words, 
and a footstep in the empty room adjoining 
roused him into action. At last he collected 
his wits and had his plausible lie. Glibly, in 
low gasping sentences, he spoke to her :— 

*VaL vL-47, 


, in- Kis.Original from 



il I am under sailing orders. I leave to- 
morrow for Burmah." She muttered some- 
thing inaudible. " I may be ordered to the 
front, and if I were not, the climate is as 
bad an enemy as the Dacoits. I love you, I 
tell you I love you. I am a poor man. A 
soldier's pittance is all I have, but I love you, 
and the thought of you will help me to 
live as a man should live to be worthy 
of such a woman as you are. Betty, listen 
to me. I ask so little — a kiss — a token 
that I may come back when I have my 
majority and ask you to take pity on 
me. Have I no chance of winning your 
love ? Say yes ; give me a glimmer of hope 
— be charitable ; yes, I know you are proud, 
reserved, a perfect mind and a perfect soul — 
that makes me love you more a thousand 
times. What can it harm you to kiss me 
and say ' God bless you ' ? Once out there 
and my life is not worth an hour's purchase." 

" Hush ! if anyone were to see you here 
holding my hands. Let us go back. Collect 
yourself. You will regret all your words. 
You are impetuous, fanciful — hush ! I hear 

Instinctively, Kay felt that five minutes 
was all he had. Desperately, and in sober 
earnest, he flung her hands away so that she 
staggered against the bench. "You have 
no heart — you are cold ! they are right to say 
you are made of ice. Because I have not 
waited a fortnight and run after you before 
all the world, you tell me my love for you is 
an insult I love you, I say, and, because 
your friends don't see me courting you, you 
refuse to listen. I beg you for a dying ser- 
vice, perhaps, and you answer that you hear 
footsteps, that someone might see us — and 
you call yourself a woman ! " 

She was moved — the ice had melted : and 
the haughty Miss Dormer's eyes glowed with 
an unusual light, a radiance that betrayed that 
her good woman's heart was touched — that 
his tempestuous pleading had awakened a 
" something " that impelled her to obey his 
lover's request, and threw her pretty arms 
around him. 

Her lips met his in a long, passionate kiss ! 
He held her close to him until, with a sobbing, 
shuddering sigh, she disengaged herself. 

The rustle of her heavy silk skirts on the 
tessellated floor, as she moved somewhat 
wearily along the terrace in front of him, 
worried his nerves, and set his teeth on edge. 

The clock in the hall pealed out shrilly 
the quarters — one — two —three — four — and 
then a triumphant shrieking— One! And 
Captain Kay was saved. 

by L^OOgle 

Mr. I-eigh, being young, had not been 
through sufficient ball-room campaigns to 
have learnt how much champagne he could 
take in one evening without getting to that 
happy borderland between waking and 
dreaming which he very technically called 
being "sideways on." After his sixth supper 
he became garrulous, and a brother officer 
put him gently into his trap and drove him 

"I say, old chappie — I must drink to 
drown my shrorrow — frigh'fully down on my 
luck — jush losh a clear ^£300 to that devil 
Kay. Careless chap, Kay." And out 
meandered the whole story of the bet, with a 
detailed and graphic account of what Leigh 
had heard whilst waiting behind the 
curtained door that led into the glass-covered 

This unfortunate youth awoke n^xt morn- 
ing, quite unconscious of the effect his story 
had produced in the smoking-room on the 
previous night, where he had found two or 
three fellows still smoking on his return, and 
had, at his friend Chichester's request, 
repeated everything, with full particulars as to 
name and place. 

That same morning a sharp ring at the 
bell hurried Captain Kay's servant to a cab 
that was drawn up at the door, and a lady in 
a thick lace veil beckoned him to approach. 

"Has Captain Kay left already?" she 
asked, in a low, unsteady voice. 

"Captain Kay, ma'am? He's on duty 
this morning." 

" Then what time is he going ? " 

" Not going away at all, that I am aware. 
I've got no horders to pack his traps." 

" But he's under sailing orders to leave 

"Oh, no, my lady; the first battalion 'as 
honly just come home." 

" Are you very certain ? " 

" Indeed and I ham, my lady. We came 
from Burmah three months ago." 

" Will you tell the cabman to drive back ? " 
the lady said, and her voice was unim- 
passioned and very feeble. 

" Shall I tell the Captain your name, my 
lady ? " 

She hesitated a moment, but decided there 
was no necessity to do so, and when the lady 
dropped a coin into Private Jones's hand, he 
noticed that her fingers trembled violently, 
so much that she could hardly hold her 
purse. " Be quick, cabman," she said, and 
they drove away. 

When Lulu lounged lazily, yawning, into 
the mess-rooTn zi luncheon also on that 





eventful morning a sudden silence greeted his 
entrance, and a visible constraint fell upon 
the three or four men present, 

" I say j Chichester, supposing you play me 
a game of billiards after lunch, eh ? " 

A silence, 

Kay looked round the table, and added : 
11 What's up with you fellows ? You do look 

At that moment young Mr. Leigh came 
in, very sallow and leaden-eyed, and called 
to the mess waiter with a heavy tongue 

to bring him **the devil of a prairie 

When Captain Kay saw Mr. Leigh in this 
condition he understood his brother officers' 
silence, so turning on his heel he whistled an 
air and left the room- 

Extract from " The London Gazette," 

To be Captain : Lieutenant T. Chichester, 
vice Captain Clement Kay, who resigns his 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 


Vrum a phQt#. bv\ 


| Ktiiott it Fry* 

Lord Mayor of London, is a 
busy man, and when he shook 
hands with me in the Long 
Parlour, at the Mansion, 
at ten o'clock one morning, he 
had been up and doing some three hours 
previously, I had been waiting a few 
minutes, and was by no means the only one, 
so besieged is the first dignitary of the City 
with deputations of all sorts and descriptions. 
Time was evidently of value here : so, after 
a rapid interchange of sentences, off we start 
on a tour of inspection of the Mansion 
House and its belongings. 

Certainly I am honoured by his lordship 
personally conducting and explaining, and 
just as certainly, what with listening and 
looking, taking mental notes, and studying 
the speaker, I am kept pretty busy, 

We are traversing the Vesture and Recep- 
tion Halls, recalling Kings, Queens, states- 
men, and Lord Mayors. A fine, lofty place, 
of considerable dimensions, massive and rich 

Digitized by 0< 

in detail : the walls are beautifully decorated 
with gold carving in relief of fruit and 
flowers, together with shields, sceptres, and 
other official insignia ; the whole stand- 
ing out bright and rich against walls of 
creamy hue. 

Somehow all the halls of grandeur are over- 
shadowed with dark obscurity. Dimness 
seems to be respectable, and, if it were not 
for the aid of artificial light, it would much 
resemble ll sitting among the tombs." 

I am bewailing the darkness when, at a 
word from his lordship, an attentive servitor 
turns on the electric current, and brilliancy 
takes the place of obscurity: I am suddenly 
transported into a palace of light. 

With a quick glance I note the hand- 
some furniture of over-burnished gold and 
plush, the rich hangings and carpets, and 
costly crystal chandeliers ; then we come to a 
sudden halt. 

" Here is something that will interest you," 
said his lordship, "This is the China Cup given 
by the Volunteers in China; it was shot for 




JVwii a Ffcfo, bt/1 


I tiliivtt dr ftp. 

and won by the London team, and by them 
deposited in my rare for the year." 

Very handsome this cup is, also very 

costly, for it is of massive silver, beautifully 
embossed, and surmounted with Chinese 

f Elliott £ Fry. 





F/vnt a Phutv. hi) THE CHINA CUP, 

IKHUAt <tf JV* 

Worth photographing, was rny thought ; 
accordingly, you arc able to form sonic idea 
of its proportions and make. Just over this 
hangs a beautiful 
piece of tapestry, 
Queen Elizabeth 
opening the first 
Exchange, and 
opposite is another 
piece showing the 
visit of Queen 
Victoria to the 
Mansion House in 
the Jubilee year. 

14 These," said 
my co u rteous 
guide, "were the 
last pieces made 
at the Royal 
Windsor Tapestry 
Works, under the 
direction of the 
Duke of Albany," 

VV ondrously 
good these tapes- 
tries are ; and it 
does seem a pity 

this sort of work is almost obsolete, The 
piece depicting Her Majesty visiting this 
place shows such perfect likenesses of 
each of the group, that at a little distance 
one might easily mistake it for a work 
in oils. A few busts are noticeable here: 
Queen Victoria and the lamented Prince 
Consort, King George IV., and the Marquis 
of Salisbury, the latter presented by the Cor- 
poration in 1HS8, 

In this hall, I was informed, the Lord 
Mayor receives his guests on great occasions ; 
it reaches right away to the Egyptian Hall ; 
but before proceeding to investigate that place, 
I am shown two or three rooms of interest 
near to hand. Entering one on the right, we 
;i re curiously gazed upon by some workmen 
who are busily engaged at the far end. 

" My business room," said the Lord 
Mayor, il but I am turned out just now, while 
these men are putting in a new window/ 1 

This room is called the Venetian Parlour 
It is plainly but substantially furnished : con- 
taining, amongst other things, a number of 
framed testimonials and congratulations, pre- 
sented to his lordship on his election, by 
different companies and societies. Evidently, 
here is a man liked and respected by all who 
have had dealings with him. 1 make no attempt 
here to discuss the reasons brought forward 
by a certain faction, that should cause Sir 
Stuart Knill to be passed over for election 
to civic honours. It was a sort of " storm in 
a teapot"; the Right Honourable went into 


EUiett * *V*. 



sake, but actually his birthday 
is of corresponding date to 
that of his grandfather, and 
having arrived at the dignity 
of seven years, he has had 
his likeness taken for "a 
birthday present tp his dear 

Mrs. John Knill comes in 
at this juncture, and after an 
introduction tells me all 
about her boy, with all a 
mother's pride in the bonnie 
face and winsome ways of 
the child whose life many a 
time had been despaired of, 
but who was now as healthy 
and hearty as one could 
wish. They all thought it 
would be capital to have 
him portrayed in his grand- 
father's robe, cocked hat, etc. ; 
the boy was as proud as 
possible. Accordingly, Mr. 
H. Wayland, of Blackheath, 
took him with happy effect, 
and here you have the re- 

Perhaps some day Stuart, 

junr. 3 





t\\xii n l f hoUi. Of] 


WaylandU tittKtheath* 

office with a big majority, and the City has 
a chief of upright fearlessness of character, 
and of unswerving integrity in all his actions, 
as well as a right benevolent gentleman, a 
free-handed entertainer, and supporter of all 
the ancient dignities of office. 

Still later, an accusation of want of loyalty 
has been brought. Now, I have had more 
than one opportunity of conversing with 
Lord Mayor Knill and his family, and I 
venture to say no more loyal man than he 
holds office in this country, and no one 
who would more readily serve his Queen 
in any emergency. With each member of 
the family the warmest fealty to the throne 
is manifest, expressed in no empty words, 
but evidently the language of the heart 

There is one thing in this room I must not 
overlook, because it is held to be of very great 
importance in the Mansion House family: it is 
a large framed portrait of the only grandson, 
Master Stuart Knill. Not only is he a name- 

insignia in reality ; let us 
hope that he will wear it as 
worthily as his grandfather. 

Here we stand talking a 
few minutes, then proceed to- 
gether to the secretary's room, 
or the "Hive" as Mr, Soulsby 
calls it. This gentleman, I must tell you, 
is a fixture, and seems quite as much a part 
of the Mansion House as is the Corporation 
plate. It's a case of "Lord Mayors may 
come, Lord Mayors may go, but / stay on for 
ever." And well it is that such is the case, 
for the business of this place is like a 
complicated piece of mechanism, requiring 
practice as well as tact to keep it going. 
Perfect piles of correspondence cover the 
centre table : curious, too, some of it ! 
If ever a man was beset with office and 
situation hunters, and inundated with 
begging letters — to say nothing of re- 
quests, both strange and amusing — it is 
the Lord Mayor of London, The great 
army of the unemployed of every grade, 
from a bank manager down to a messenger, 
from a director to a caretaker, each and 
every one thinks his lordship can find him 
a situation, and put him in it. It would, 
indeed, be an undertaking and a responsi- 




From a I'fa.Ut. by] 


ItVfiotf * Jry. 

bility for any man, especially as he knows 
nothing of their characters. And the begging 
letters ! They are sufficiently numerous to 
quickly make a rich man a poor one, If the 
writers were helped as they desire* The 
compulsory refusal is evidently ?^/one of the 
sweets of office to a man as kind-hearted as 
Sir Stuart KnilL That he does give, and 
gives largely, regardless of creed or any other 
matter, I know ft jr a fact ; but wherever it is 
possible the gift is bestowed quietly. 

Now we turn to the letters, which contain 
some very peculiar and amusing requests. 
What would you think of turning the Man- 
sion House into a matrimonial agency, with 
the Lord Mayor as managing director ? 
Sounds (j ueer, does it not ? Yet one young 
settler out in Canada, tired of single blessed- 
ness and sighing for the married state, actu- 
ally hit upon London's Lord Mayor as a 
suitable person to help him to a wife* Need- 
less to say, the "agency 7 ' was not accepted. 

Then, again, a Continental tradesman has 
an idea of turning the place into a market, 
with his lordship as chief salesman ; for he 
sends over a large case of goods, asking that 
they may he sold on his behalf! 

Another petition, of a different sort, met 
with more favourable consideration : it was 
that of a boy who had gone from an industrial 
school out to Montreal, He had left behind 
him three brothers^ to whom he had since 
written, but his letters had been returned 
with "gone away" on the envelopes. The 

lad's letter was 
given into the 
hands of the City 
and after some 
c a 11 sid era hie 
trouble all three 
were found liv- 
ing in different 
parts of London, 
and placed in 
with the brother 
in foreign lands. 
This is only one 
of frequent cases 
where the Man- 
sion House aid 
is besought for 
the finding of 
lost fr i en ds t 
happy results 
often following. 

Mr. Sou Is by is 
depicted here, as 
you may find him at any time, deep in his 
duties ; and when one thinks of the numerous 
dinners, balls, receptions, deputations, funds, 
and the other hundred and one matters 
that he has to attend to, I make up nny 
mind that the office he has so successfully filled 
for upwards of eighteen years is no sinecure* 
Mr. Soulsby it was who called my attention 
to the very beautiful marble chimney piece 
in this room. It is of pure Sicilian marble, 
exquisitely sculptured in fruit and flowers, 
the top supports being Corinthian columns, 
the lower having continuation of Cor- 
inthian character; while running around 
the fireplace is an inquisitively carved 

As we emerge into the corridor, the 
entrance to the Justice Room faces us: but, 
as the Lord Mayor sits there later on, we 
leave that for the present, and proceed to the 
State Drawing Rooms* These two rooms 
are spanned mid-way with a lofty arch. 
Several doors in them communicate with 
other rooms, and each one being panelled in 
plate glass adds greatly to the grand effect. 
The prevailing tints of ceiling and walls are 
cream and gold, the latter being silk panelled 
Here, as in the majority of the Mansion 
House rooms, gold carving of fruit and 
flowers in relief is a special feature. The 
marble chimney-pieces are very fine, as are 
also the crystal chandeliers and numerous 
candelabra. In one room the furniture is 
of walnut, uphcviitered with grey silk ; in the 





JfWivH it JYy. 

jther the frames are over-burnished, with 
upholstery of gold silk. 

* ( Here," explained his lordship, "the Lady 
Mayoress holds her receptions, which are 
generally very largely attended, The rooms 
are, of course, also open on all occasions 

when guests are here," 

I remember then that the receptions 
are musical, and glance over at the fine 
41 grand" in the corner, with three or four 
music-stands in its neighbourhood. Sub- 
sequently 1 had the pleasure of attending 
one of these receptions. Very enjoyable 
it was too, but would have been much more 
so if a part of the four hundred odd 
people who came had but left a little sooner ; 
but, no, there they stayed ; while cups 

of tea went briskly 
ft agged, conversation 
all got wedged into 

rounds music never 
was general, and we 
groups or corners ; 

felt generally warm and uncomfortable ; but 
smiled at each other as though we had 
reached the highest state of blissful existence. 

To return, however, There is to be a 
banquet to-night, and cut flowers and plants 
are being placed here and there, brightening 
up the rooms that, though grand and stately, 
yet are stiff and formal 

We now pass out by the doorway at the 
upper end of the drawing-rooms; this bringing 
us to the top of the Grand Reception Hall. 
Here we pause, and looking down, note the 
massive supporting columns, and the statelv 

proportions of the whole — seen here to the 
greatest advantage. 

It is natural to think and speak here of 
the stately ceremonies, and of the illustrious 
visitors, long since faded into the shadows of 
the past, and to recall times when the Lord 
Mayors of London held an office of a some- 
what different nature to what they do now. 

For instance : he is in no danger of Her 
Majesty sending him to prison because he 
has not squeezed enough money out of the 
citizens to satisfy her demands ; his prede- 
cessors of ancient times were ! Then, again, 
he is suitably and handsomely lodged, 
whereas aforetimes he had to borrow a com- 
pany's hall, hire a house, or put up with 
what he had got ; the latter, of course, 
being generally much too small for the duties 
of his position. 

In 1739 the City thought the time had 
arrived for an official residence, and the 
foundation stone was laid by Ix)rd Mayor 
Perry, the opening taking place amid much 
rejoicing on the part of the citizens m 1753. 
It is built of Portland stone, its exterior 
doubtless being familiar fo most of my 
readers. I may here say that the bills for house 
and furniture amounted £0^70,985 13s. 2d. ; 
the plate costing j£i 1,531 16s. 3d* It is 
now of much greater value, as each Lord 
Mayor adds about ^£s°° worth. 

The first Mayor was elected by Richard I. 
in ii8q, but the prefix of Lord, with style of 




Right Honourable, was not granted until 
! 354t by Edward III. 

There is a sort of magnet about the words 
"Mansion House/' and, generally speaking, 
a vast amount of respect for the occupants 
who come and go year by year. The fact of 
it is, in the elevation and dignity of the I,ord 
Mayor, City men behold theirs, for he is one 
of them. So, despite of much talking of 
doing away with the 
annual show, we still 
steadily vote ourselves 
a holiday ; don all 
our best attire j and, 
emptying our ware- 
houses and shop 
windows of their usual 
adornments, we fill 
them with happy 
families ; and generally 
agree that it is a 
good old institution 
that ought to be kept 

I should imagine 
that it would be diffi- 
cult to find a more 
responsible and hard- 
working post than 
that of Lord Mayor. 
To tike but brief 
cognizance of the 
different duties for 
one year would be a 
prodigious task, so 
numerous and so wide is the extent. He is 
a Judge of the Central Criminal Court and 
London Sessions , presides at the Court of 
Aldermen, as well as at a legion of public 
meetings at the Mansion House and else- 
where. He receives numbers of distinguished 
foreign visitors, and has frequent communica- 
tions with the Government as the City 

Should there be a change of monarchy, he 
must attend the Privy Council, and act as 
Chief ftutler at the coronation. He is con- 
nected with more .schools, hospitals, and 
societies than I can say ; and any national 
or foreign calamity that occurs, he is the 
acting and willing medium for public sub- 
scriptions. He also sits daily in the Mansion 
House justice-room, where he tries prisoners 
and arbitrates in private causes, besides 
attending dinners, concerts, and balls in- 

All this makes up a sum total of engage- 
ments, that it is a wonder how any one man 
can go through with them. 


From a 1'hutu. by tVe 

This year, it certainly seems to be the 
right man in the right place* A tall, keen- 
eyed, grey-haired man, practical and business- 
like ; evidently thoughtful and quietly 
shrewd ; and, above all, evincing an innate 
courtesy and kindness of manner that win 
the respect of all. 

A portrait and brief biography of the 
Lord Mayor was published in The Strand 

Magazine for January 
of this year; and 
while penning these 
lines, the tidings reach 
me that Her Majesty 
the Queen has been 
graciously pleased to 
confer upon him a 
Baronetage, so I take 
the opportunity of 
asking my readers to 
join in hearty con- 
gratulations to Sir 
Stuart Knill and 

Before passing 
through the large 
doorway, Immediately 
near us, we proceed 
to note the two 
gigantic and finely 
sculptured pieces of 
Sardanapalus and 
Caractacus, by Weekes 
and Foley respectively ; 
having done which. 


London Sttttote&pic C& 





we enter the Egyptian Hall, a place of 
noble proportions, designed by Lord Bur- 

"This hall," said his lordship, u as you 
probably know ? is used for banquets, public 
meetings, and the Lord Mayor s Ball. At 
the banquets the Lord Mayor's seat is 
on a dais facing the doors ; about four 
hundred can dine here, the tables being 

above these being two magnificent stained- 
glass windows, one showing a street pro- 
cession of Edward VL, the other a water 
procession of Queen Elizabeth. On either 
side of the room, in rear of the pillars, are 
some grand specimens of sculptured statuary, 
all wrought by illustrious men ; these were 
purchased by the Corporation after the 
Exhibition , of 185 1, at a cost of ^10,000. 

From a Photo. &y] 


tJSIJiuH i£ Fry. 

placed round three sides, and in rows 
across the centre," 

I.ater on, I was a privileged spectator of 
a banquet given in honour of M* Wadding* 
ton ; a brilliant spectacle it was, and 
right well was the dignity of our ancient 
City maintained by Sir Stuart Knilh On 
that occasion a sketch was taken of the table 
before the company sat down, which will 
give some idea of the effective tableau pre- 
sented later on. 

This Egyptian Hall is worth inspecting in 
detail, and we walk leisurely around it, noting 
and chatting. Two rows of lofty, detached 
pillars stand out on either side ; from the 
vaulted roof hang some gay banners of former 
Lord Mayors, prominent being the one of 
the gentleman now conversing with me. At 
either end are immense plate-glass mirrors 
reflecting back the whole of the interior; 

Over the entrance is a horse-shoe balcony, 
where the privileged few may look on at the 
stately functions proceeding below, We could 
mentally recall several of unusual splendour : 
one, for instance, when the Prince of Wales, 

George IV., was 



in 1814, ^20,000 was the sum 
expended ! Or, one still longer ago, 
when the far-famed Whittington enter- 
tained Henry V* and Queen Catherine. 
Whittington was a right liberal host ; but the 
crowning point was after the banquet, when 
King, Queen, and Mayor stood in front of a 
fire made with precious woods mixed with 
spices. Conversation turned on money 
matters, the Mayor having lent the King 
immense sums of money wherewith to carry 
on the siege of Harfleur. Small wonder 
that the in on a re -Is were astonished when 
Whiu ingl on took the bonds for such moneys 



and calmiy con- 
signed them to the 
flames the King 
giving utterance to 
his feelings with — 

" Surely, never 
had King such a 
subject ! " 

To which the 
right loyal enter- 
tainer replied, as 
he bowed low with 
courtly gallantry:— 

"Surely, sire, 
never had subject 
such a King ! " 

If the days of 
swelling the mon- 
arch's purse have 
gone by, the days 
of costly banquets 
are with us still ; 
of which the annual 
one on the 9th of 
November is no 
mean example, the cost of that being com- 
puted at about ^£3,000, the Lord Mayor pay- 
ing half, and the two Sheriffs a fourth each, 

Here we leave banquet subjects and Ban- 
queting Hall and go up the staircase 
opening from- the grand reception hall, and 
exactly opposite the one leading from the 

.FWjph tt I'kuta. bg] 


lEllivtt <* Fry. 

lower hall* The same beautiful designs are 
here continued on ceiling and wall, together 
with a profusion of floral decoration in 
windows and lobbies. 

Just at the top are two morning rooms, 
these being furnished in walnut and gold, 
with hangings of rich plush, and decorated 

JPjnym a t y h&to. b\f) 




in cream and gold; the doors have plate- 
glass panels, the chimney-pieces are hand- 
some and artistic, over one being a fine 
sculptured bust of Her Majesty the Queen* 
Birds in their cages are singing their sweetest, 
revelling in the bright sunshine streaming in 
at the windows. Music is scattered here and 
there ; one of Erard's superb " grands " stand- 
ing in an inviting position. Altogether, these 
rooms have a very attractive appearance* 

Next, my Lord 
Mayor conducted 
me to the old ball- 
room. Here, he 
explained, many of 
the City Companies 
hold their "din- 
ners/' on the walls 
being displayed 
their shields and 
devices. Hie pre- 
vailing tone of the 
decorations are 
pale green, cream, 
and gold. A light 
gallery runs round 
the room, from 
which gallery open 
a number of bed- 

At one end of 
the room a screen 
reaches right across 
and on looking 
behind we find 

the flooring replaced with glass, this device, 
his lordship informed me, having been re- 
sorted to in order that more light could be 
introduced to the Justice Room, which is 
immediately below ; this glass can be covered 
at will, thus bringing the room to its former 
sbe when requisite. 

The billiard-room is contiguous to this, 
a pleasant room, decorated in terra-cot ta, 
and fitted with handsome and comfortable 

he UNftHiRiftT'Y F Ml C H IG A N fjroto * * ***- 



appointments. Then we visit a snug smoking 
den, a cosy little spot where his lordship can 
enjoy his weed, and keep, as he tells me, the 
smoke smell from the downstairs rooms. 

But time is passing ; the hour for the 
Justice Room approaches ; so we hasten to 
the boudoir of the Lady Mayoress, to whom 
I am now introduced, A few pleasant words 
are addressed to me, a promise of a chat 
later on, and I hurry downstairs to sec the 
Chief Magistrate take his seat in the court. 
First, a likeness is taken, consent being 
kindly accorded \ so here you see the Lord 
Mayor occupying the scat of Justice, 
Mr, Douglas, Clerk of the Court, in his 
accustomed position, and various other 
officials in theirs. I stay for one or 
two cases, having thus an opportunity 
of listening to reproof and advice from the 
chair, and a sample of legal argument ; then 
I wander off to the lower regions ; inspect 
the plate-room, with its store of costly and 
elaborate pieces ; the kitchens, where I find 
huge joints roasting in rows for the coming 
banquet, together with a plentiful supply of 
all the other accessories requisite for a 
Mansion House dinner. 

so hospitable a man as Sir Stuart Knill. It 
scarcely needs my assurance of the perfec- 
tion of hospitality which I, as well as others, 
received here ; all that may be taken for 

Later in the day, 1 had my promised 
interview with the Lady Mayoress ; three of 
us — the extra one being Mrs. John Knill — 
settling down for a cosy talk, which proved 
so full of interest that the large hand of the 
timepiece travelled nearly twice round ere 
the good-bye was spoken. It was a charming 
room in which we s§t, looking more like 
(( home " than any room in the house. 

A plentiful supply of music and books, 
lots of albums and framed portraits — presents 
of all sorts, 

" People have been very kind," said the 
I>ady Mayoress ; " in fact, we have received 
so many things that I am wondering where 
we shall put them all when we leave here/* 

Then I found that although of necessity 
much time must be passed at the civic 
residence, yet the house at Blackheath was 
the favoured spot. 

"Sunshine and fresh air, and a quiet 
country life," said my hostess, t4 I enjoy ; and 

i rvnt a t'hufa l>g] 


LtfJiu'f d: Fry, 

Then, under the experienced guidance of 
Mr. Winny, the butler of nearly eleven years' 
standing, I explore the wine cellars — capacious 
and numerous ; hear how many hundred dozen 
a good Lord Mayor will consume in his year, 
and inwardly wonder whether the salary of 
^lOjOoo will pay even half the expenses of 

here we are so shut in, the rooms are dark, 
and yet so large that you scarcely catch a 
voice from the other end of one." 

And so we went on to talk of the many 
and varied duties that devolve on the I-idy 
Mayoress ; many of them enjoyable, but the 



■ SSkHbT v iMh 

*' Hi 


L li 



^H _^^H 


t'rvin a Phot". 'm, I 

LLUwU * frfl. 

and how much 
by these Ladies 

u Very kind of the people to ask us/' said 
her ladyship, "but — yes — it is somewhat 
wearying: the continual round of 'at homes,' 
receptions, balls, etc., to say nothing of the 
large number of charitable, scholastic, and 
other good works in which we must take 

From this we drifted into the needs 
and sufferings of the vast legion of the 
Lo n don poor. How much sympathy with 
anxiety to help was shown 
I cannot describe to you ; 
regardless of creed, they would like to help 
all in need ; but how many applications were 
received for assistance it was difficult for 
them to say, 

M How do you treat these letters?" I asked; 
and was told in answer that as many as 
possible were answered in some way, as, " If 
you cannot help a person, it is only right 
and kind to put them out of suspense-" 
It is evidently the middle-class people 
who have most of the sympathy of the 
Mansion House mistress, though; "for," said 
she, " when poverty overtakes thsm^ they feel 
it more than those who have been brought up 
in a harder school ; besides, there is more 
done for the latter; the outcast can take 
refuge in the workhouse or shelter if no other 
place is open to him, while the more gently 
nurtured shrink from it" 

Then I listened with interest to an account 
of a Catholic Women's Shelter in the City, 

and a recital of facts gathered in personal 
visits to the place. 

Literature was thf next topic, and here I 
found myself in contact with two minds well 
stored with the works of the best writers ; 
and minds that deplored the vast amount of 
light and unprofitable reading indulged in by 
so many at the present time. 

This led to a practical remark from the 
Lady Mayoress, which would be well for the 
future of Young England if acted upon. 
"Why is it," she said, "that our boys are not 
well grounded in French and German, in- 
stead of the smattering of sciences and 
'ologies that is so prevalent ? See how 
necessary it is in mercantile houses at the 
present time ; is it any wonder that foreigners 
come over and secure clerkships, while 
hundreds of Englishmen and lads are either 
out of employment, or working for a mere 
pittance in inferior positions ? " 

Sound reasoning this, and, coming from 
the wife of a thorough business man, it is not 
speaking of matters she does not understand. 

I should think the sound common sense 
of the wife in this case would be invaluable 
to the husband ; and if one can read at all, 
this is just the sort of family where a bond 
of mutual help, as well as mutual affection, 

Singularly happy is the Lady Mayoress in 
having a daughter-in-law who can so ably 

mi Bfi^fir^^teH 1 her duties ' w 



can Mrs. John Knill. These duties have, in 
fact, often to devolve upon her entirely, as 
her ladyship — no longer young, and anything 
but robust — often finds rest absolutely neces- 

A photo, is taken of the boudoir and one 
of the State bedrooms, which Mrs. Knill 
points out to me, In the former I am happy 
in having persuaded the Lady Mayoress to 
sit, though, as she tells me, "she has a rooted 
objection to anything of the sort." And so 
we chatted, presently turning to the large 
amount of curiosity displayed by the people 
whenever a public appearance of the I,ord 
Mayor and Lady Mayoress is made, and the 
sometimes amusing experiences in con- 

I had heard — and repeated it — of a 
countryman and his wife up to see the sights. 
They evidently had peculiar ideas of the Lord 
Mayor's functions or the use of his residence, 
for they were discovered gazing anxiously- 
through the massive iron bars fixed in the 
lower front of the Mansion House \ and 
when asked the reason, the old man replied 
that " he and his missis were up to see the 
soights* and so thought they might see the 
Lord Mayor : What toime do it begin ? ,? 
evidently imagining it was either a circus or 
a menagerie, with the Lord Mayor as M.C, 
What a hearty laugh this was greeted with, and 
the natural kindness peeped out when Lady 
Knill remarked, " Poor things, if that is true, 
what a pity they could not come and see inside." 

Prom a Photo, to" 


RUM & try 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

AGE 3. 

From 4k Photo, br Ma wit* Regent StneL 



BORtf 1858. 


RUSSELL, the late Duke of 
Bedford's only brother, succeeded 
to the Dukedom on the death of 
his brother in February last He 
in 1858, and was educated at 


Fmm a Photo, by Ifmth, Reymt tffurf. 

Balliol College, Oxford, He was formerly 
in the Grenadier Guards, and served in the 

gitized by L^OOgle 

Egyptian Campaign in 1SS2, for which he 
received the medal and clasp. From 1884 
to 1888 he served as Aide-de-Camp to the 

AGE 24. 

From a Photo- bxW,&b. Pevmev* 

Marquess of Dufferin, Viceroy of India. He 
married, in January, 188 8, Mary du Caurroy, 
daughter of the Ven. Archdeacon Tribe, and 
has a son, Hastings William Sackville, born 
in December, 1888. 


»tan <■ Pkot$ r bjf J. Tkemton, Qroivciwr Square. 


*l If 1 


on the South-Eastern Circuit and the Sussex 
Sessions. He was Junior Counsel to the 
Post Office at the Central Criminal Court in 
1 886 and 1887, Senior Counsel from 1887 to 
18S9 ; Junior Counsel to the TreLsury from 

Ffotn a Photo, by lh J^mt, Bold Sirtct, Liverpool. 

Born 1851* 

GILL, whose career at the Bar 
has been of exceptional brilliance, 
was born at Dublin, and educated 
ftt the Royal School, Dungannon, 

He was called to the Bar at the Middle 

Temple at the age of twenty-three, and went Chichester* 

AGE 34* 

JWmt a Photo, by Lcnnbnrdi*C Co., Pail Wall £W 

1889 to 1892, Senior Counsel 1892. In 
March, 1S90, he was appointed Recorder of 

rKhSt.NT 1>AY. 

» a Photo by the Lon\i*m H. 





PWM .r| 

r Mtg\tt.rttutjtiJt> 



H E well-known authoress of " Molly 
Bawn M is the daughter of the 
? btc Canon Hamilton, rector of 
St, Faughnan's Cathedral in Ross- 
ear be ry, Co. Cork, She began 
to write when very young, always taking the 

lurNJLiiuiiniHiii in LiiHiiiitiiiuiiiiiiMiiiiiiniiifiuiMfiiiiiiiiiiuiiimitiniiiiiMiMirr 

Prom a Fhyto. by J ac.k r.\ [Ckw*, Cork. 

prize at school for composition ; and her 
first novel, " Phyllis, 3 ' written before she was 
nineteen, was read by Mr- James Payn, who 


Ml^l 1 

Fratti « Pkotit, btf 

AG£ 25, [EhKlt t JlegtnlStt W, 

accepted it for Messrs, Smith and Elder. 
Since that time she has written between 
thirty and forty novels, which have found 
innumerable readers, among the most 
popular being " Molly Bawn," " Mrs. Geof- 
frey/' 14 Portia/' " Rossmoyne," " Under- 
currents," "A Life*s Remorse/' "A Born 
Coquette/ 5 " A Conquering Heroine," Her 
husband, Mr, Henry Hungerford, who is 
also Irish, is the owner of the beautiful 
estate of Sl Brenda's, Handon, Co. Cork, 
where Mrs, Hungerford, who is the mother 
of six children, devotes herself to gardening 
and farming, as well as to the writing of her 
popular books. 


[Gayd: Co., Cork. 



AGE 3J» 

Jrom a Photo &* SVw* Ptrreterter Ttrma, W* 


Born 1833, 




WILKINSON, Bishop of 
St Andrews, was educated 
at Oriel College, Oxford 
(H.A. 1855; MA * l8 59)- Hv was 
curate of Kensington, 1857-59; P er_ 
petual curate of Seaham Harbour, 
1859-63, and of Auckland, Durham, 
1863-67. In 1867 he was appointed 
incumbent of St Peter's* Great Wind- 
mill Street, London ; and in 1870 he 
became vicar of St, Peter's, Eaton 
Square, He was also an honorary 
canon of Truro Cathedral, and ex- 
amining chaplain to the bishop of 
that diocese. He ^s'as select preacher 
at Oxford 1879-81, In January, 
1883, he was appointed to the see 

of Truro, which had become vacant by the 
promotion of Dr. Benson to the Arch- 
bishopric of Canterbury; and he was con- 
secrated by the new Primate, in St, Paul's 
Cathedral, on April 25 th. From this see he 

ACE 45. 
From a rhttttf. bv FrtuMU t Refrftf Strut, JT K 

was transferred to his present position as 
Bishop of St Andrews, He is the author 
of several works on devotional and other 
religious subjects. 

by K; 



ac.k 5B. 

/■■'.-■ 1 1 u if J ','■.■'(■ 1 by A\ m ift}t. TVliro 




study of a bloodhound, in 1835. He was 
elected an Associate of the Royal Scottish 
Academy in 1846, and an Academician in 
1859. He was appointed Animal Painter to 

m;b 15, 

Born 18 19, 

t son of the late John Steell, artist 
in Edinburgh, ar\d youngest 
t brother of the late Sir John 
Steell, sculptor, was bom at Edin- 
burgh and educated there. He received his 

Franm ti $*hutii. ltff\ 

Ai'rH. 60, 

[J/^/ffS, E-titibwrsb, 


JwM H *5^. 



Bv^ .. -^i ^^■fivV^H 



Her Majesty for Scotland in 1874 and Prin- 
cipal Curator of the National Gallery of Scot- 
land in 1882, and has for many years held 
the office of Animal Painter to the Highland 
and Agricultural Society. 

Frvm u l*h*^h h{f [ 

Hii- [/tud0ertf b St And r w. 

Art training In the Galleries of the 
Board of Manufactures, under Sir 
William Allan, R.A., PJEL&A, and 
in the private studio of Robert Scott 
Lauder, R.S.A. His first exhibited 
work was a model of a greyhound, 
hung in the rooms of the Scot- 
tish Academy, in 1833 ; and his 
first exhibited picture, a life-siz« 

Diquized by v.iOC 

t'l-'jm ci I •<• ii< ijyl 

fifi^a.v c iiAv, 

I Tuimvn RtonMuvh. 




FrxHri a Jf until unr* 


Born 182 r. 
A LC ESTER, G.CR, is the son 
of Sir Horace Beauchamp Sey- 
mour. 1 le was educated at Eton, and entered 
the Royal Navy. He was gazetted a lieutenant 
in 1842, and in the Burmese War of 1852 he 
led the Fusiliers to the capture of the Pagoda 

Ai-L 43, 
fV&trt « I'hvtn. fcf Matlardif, tirwHffyi 

at Pegu, was gazetted four times, and received 
the Burmese medal. This promise of a most 
distinguished career was entirely fulfilled, and ■ 
culminated in the bombardment of Alexandria 
in iS82 : when Sir Beauchamp Seymour, as he 
was then, was in supreme command of the 
Mediterranean Fleet, where in a few hours he 
ruined or silenced all the forts, with the loss of 
very few English and with little injury to his 

Digitized by Google 

AGB 62. 

From a PhvtA. hy /jM+ifliw, OH JImd a'lmJ* 1*", 

ships. For this achievement he received the 
thanks of Parliament, j£ 2 0,000, and a Peerage. 

/TOM 4 


Guy Harkaway's Substitute. 

By M. P, Shjel. 

HE congregation at Ebenezer 
were not so thoroughly satisfied 
with their pastor as they had 
once been. They liked him 
still — more perhaps than they 
thought — but their enthusiasm 

about him had subsided a little ; somehow 

he did not seem to them to have the same 

baptism of unction, the same "liberty of 

utterance "—and he was by no means in such 

good health ; substitutes — mostly laymen — 

had frequently to be found to fill his place, a 

thing that greatly tried the patience of the 

little flock. 

Dr. Johnson somewhere speaks of the 

"complicated misery" of pedagogy* It is 

an excellent phrase to apply to 

the trials of a poor Dissenting r . 

minister in a prim, self-supporting 

little conventicle like Ebenezer — 

and Guy Harka way found that he 

required all the harmlessness of a 

dove, the wisdom of a serpent, 

and the tact and finesse of an 

ant-eater to live altogether " free 

of offence." 

He sat one Saturday afternoon 

in the little room he called his 

"study," thinking out the final 

flourishes he was to give to to- 
morrow's "discourse." He al- 
ways spoke extempore, perhaps 

not so much from choice, as that 

the leaders at Ebenezer had a 

strong conviction that, under no 

circumstances, could reading be 

called preaching; that it savoured 

of "Rome," and was, conse- 
quently, more or less sinful. 
He was frowning vigorously 

at the opposite wall, arranging his 

thoughts — a tallish man with a 

red, honest face. He was only 

about thirty, but already several 

of his teeth had disappeared from 

the front of his mouth \ in his 

eyes was a somewhat worn and 

weary look, as if a month's rest 

from the constant effort to please 

he was called upon to make would have done 
him the world of good. 

" Come in, dear/' he cried, in answer to a 
well-known tap at the door, his whole face 
lighting up with pleasure at the sound. 

" Look, Guy ; a letter from Atherstone ! " 
He opened the letter and read it, and then 
his face looked troubled again. His wife 
glanced over his shoulder as he read, and 
when they were finished they looked blankly 
at each other for a minute. 

"What's to be done?" he asked, waiting 
for her to decide for him. 

" You must go, Guy," she said with 

" How can I ? Who is to take my place 
to-morrow ? " 

"One of the lay " 

" Yes, but a lay bro- 
ther preached for me 
last Sunday, when I 
was too ill to do it 
myself. You know 
these people here won't 


to please 

by Goosle 

'a t«TT@|ljq.ff la +l^f^ @TW .i i .■' 



stand too much of that sort of thing — they 
must have the white tie and a special cut of 
black coat Besides, are you quite sure that 
I ought to go ? " 

She sighed, and began to think, knitting 
her, brows in the prettiest way, and taking a 
seat beside him* She did not look much 
over eighteen, this young wife, with her broad, 
low forehead, and short crop of curly brown 
hair, cut rather close round the shapely head 
— a head that had acquired the habit in their 
short married life of doing a large proportion 
of the thinking, and solving most of the little 
commonplace problems that accompanied 
and punctuated their rramped t but not un- 
picturesqne, life. 

"Certainly," she 
said at last, " it 
seems to me that 
your duty to your- 
self demands that 
you should go. It 
is so unfortunate 
that the letter did 
not come earlier in 
the week ; still, I 
think it will be 
choosing the least 
of two evils if you 


" My duty to my- 
self isn't my whole 

" Well, no, I sup- 
pose not" 

'* Can you sug- 
gest any — — " 

11 Yes — let me go 
myself to Mr. Del-' 
vin, and ask him to 
take your place. He 
can hardly refuse, 
and then I will go 
the round of the 
congregation, and make excuses for you. I 
can soothe most of them, you know. And 
you can start to-night. An additional j£ioo 
a year under present circumstances, my poor 
boy ' y and she sighed again. 

The matter was this. Guy was one of 
the two nephews of a maiden lady in 
Warwickshire, who was extremely old and 
capricious, being, besides, fairly well off. 
The other nephew had long been the 
favourite ; but a year before this he had 
been heard to comment facetiously on the 
longevity of "the old lady." The remark 
had reached her ears, and Guy had straight- 
way been summoned and informed that he 


might for the future consider himself as sole 
heir of her property. He had just married, 
and the event had been hailed in the little 
household with all the gladness it d